PRUE   AND  I 


PRUE    AND    I 


B* 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS 


"Knitters  in  the  fnm." 

Twelfth  Night. 


UNIVERSITY 


NEW     YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 
FRANKLIN      SQUARE. 


ls>l-005 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 
GEORGE   WILLIAM    CURTIS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Unite  i  States  fo, 
the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TO 

MRS.   HENRY    W.   LONGFELLOW, 

In  memory  of  the  happy  hours  at  our 
Castles  in  Spain. 


A  WORD  TO  THE  GENTLE  READER. 

AN  old  Look-keeper,  who  wears  a  white  cravat  and  blacfc 
trovvsers  in  the  morning,  who  rarely  goes  to  the  opera,  and 
never  dines  out,  is  clearly  a  person  of  no  fashion  and  of 
no  superior  sources  of  information.  His  only  journey  is 
from  his  house  to  his  office ;  his  only  satisfaction  is  in  doing 
his  duty ;  his  only  happiness  is  in  his  Prue  and  his  children. 

What  romance  can  such  a  life  have  ?  What  stories  can 
Fiich  a  man  tell  ? 

Yet  I  think,  sometimes,  when  I  look  up  from  the  par 
quet  at  the  opera,  and  see  Aurelia  smiling  in  the  boxes, 
and  holding  her  court  of  love,  and  youth,  and  beauty, 
that  the  historians  have  not  told  of  a  fairer  queen,  nor 
the  travellers  seen  devouter  homage.  And  when  1  re- 
memember  that  it  was  in  misty  England  that  quaint  old 
George  Herbert  sang  of  the — 

"  Sweet  day  so  cool,  so  calm,  BO  bright — 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky," 

I  am  sure  that  I  see  days  as  lovely  in  our  clearer  air,  and 
do  not  believe  that  Italian  sunsets  have  a  more  gorgeous 
purple  or  a  softer  gold. 


VIII 

So,  as  the  circle  of  my  little  life  revolves,  I  console  my 
self  with  believing,  what  I  cannot  help  believing,  that  a 
man  need  not  be  a  vagabond  to  enjoy  the  sweetest  charm 
of  travel,  but  that  all  countries  and  all  times  repeat  them 
selves  in  his  experience.  This  is  an  old  philosophy,  I  am 
told,  and  much  favored  by  those  who  have  travelled  ;  and  I 
cannot  but  be  glad  that  my  faith  has  such  a  fine  name  and 
such  competent  witnesses.  I  am  assured,  however,  upon 
the  other  hand,  that  such  a  faith  is  only  imagination.  But^ 
if  that  be  true,  imagination  is  as  good  as  many  voyages — • 
and  how  much  cheaper! — a  consideration  which  an  old 
book-keeper  can  never  aftbrd  to  forget. 

I  have  not  found,  in  my  experience,  that  travellers  always  \ 
bring  back  with  them  the  sunshine  of  Italy  or  the  elegance 
of  Greece.  They  tell  us  that  there  are  such  things,  arid  that 
they  have  seen  them ;  but,  perhaps,  they  saw  them,  as  the 
apples  in  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides  were  sometimes  seen 
— over  the  wall.  I  prefer  the  fruit  which  I  can  buy  in  the 
market  to  that  which  a  man  tells  me  he  saw  in  Sicily,  but 
of  which  there  is  no  flavor  in  his  story.  Others,  like 
Moses  Primrose,  bring  us  a  gross  of  such  spectacles  as  we 
prefer  not  to  see ;  so  that  I  begin  to  suspect  a  man  must 
have  Italy  and  Greece  in  his  heart  and  mind,  if  he  would 
ever  see  them  with  his  eyes. 


I  know  that  this  may  be  only  a  device  of  that  cornpas- 
yionate  imagination  designed  to  comfort  me,  who  shall  nevei 
take  but  one  other  journey  than  my  daily  beat.  Yet  there 
have  been  v?iso  men  who  taught  that  all  scenes  are  but  pic 
tures  upon  the  mind ;  and  if  I  can  see  them  as  I  walk  the 
street  that  leads  to  my  office,  or  sit  at  the  office-window 
looking  into  the  court,  or  take  a  little  trip  down  the  bay  or 
up  the  river,  why  are  not  my  pictures  as  pleasant  and  as 
profitable  as  those  which  men  travel  for  years,  at  great 
cost  of  time,  and  trouble,  and  money,  to  behold  ? 

For  my  part,  I  do  not  believe  that  any  man  can  see 
softer  skies  than  I  see  in  Prue's  eyes ;  nor  hear  sweeter 
music  than  I  hear  in  Prue's  voice ;  nor  find  a  more  heaven- 
lighted  temple  than  I  know  Prue's  mind  to  be.  And  when 
I  wish  to  please  myself  with  a  lovely  image  of  peace  and 
contentment,  I  do  not  think  of  the  plain  of  Sharon,  nor  of 
the  valley  of  Enna,  nor  of  Arcadia,  nor  of  Claude's  pic 
tures  ;  but,  feeling  that  the  fairest  fortune  of  my  life  is  the 
right  to  be  named  with  her,  I  whisper  gently,  to  myself, 
with  a  smile — for  it  seems  as  if  my  very  heart  smiled  withic 
rue,  when  I  think  of  her — "  Prue  and  I." 


CONTENTS. 


I.  DINNER-TIME    . 
It.  MY  CEIATEAUX.     . 

III.  SEA  FROM  SHORE        .  .    6d 

IY.  TITBOTTOM'S  SPECTACLES. 
V.  A  CRUISE  IN  THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN. 

VL  FAMILY  PORTRAITS 

VII.  OUR  COUSIN  THE  CURATE.  .        .        •        •  l^5 


^5>x 

VKlVERSTj 

^ 


DINNER-TIME 


**  Within  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time  ; 
I'll  view  the  manners  of  the  town, 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings." 

Comedy  of  Errors 


HJFORN1A- 


DINNER-TIME, 

"  Within  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time  ; 
I'll  view  the  manners  of  the  town, 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings." 

Comedy  of  Errors. 

Ix  the  warm  afternoons  of  the  early  summer,  it  is 
my  pleasure  to  stroll  about  Washington  Square  and 
along  the  Fifth  Avenue,  at  the  hour  when  the  din 
ers-out  are  hurrying  to  the  tables  of  the  wealthy  and 
refined.  I  gaze  with  placid  delight  upon  the  cheer 
ful  expanse  of  white  waistcoat  that  illumes  those 
streets  at  that  hour,  and  mark  the  variety  of  emo 
tions  that  swell  beneath  all  that  purity.  A  man 
going  out  to  dine  has  a  singular  cheerfulness  of  as 
pect.  Except  for  his  gloves,  which  fit  so  well,  and 
which  he  has  carefully  buttoned,  that  he  may  not 
make  an  awkward  pause  in  the  hall  of  his  friend's 
house,  I  am  sure  he  would  search  his  pocket  for  a 
cent  to  give  the  wan  beggar  at  the  corner.  It  is 
impossible  just  now,  my  dear  woman  ;  but  God 
bless  you  ! 

It  is  pleasant  to  consider  that  simple  suit  of  black. 
If  my  man  be  young  and  only  lately  cognizant  of 


PRUE   AND    1 


the  rigors  of  the  social  law,  he  is  a  little  nervous  at 
being  seen  in  his  dress  suit — body  coat  and  black 
trowsers — before  sunset.  Forln  the  last  days  of  May 
the  light  lingers  long  over  the  freshly  leaved  trees 
in  the  Square,  and  lies  warm  along  the  Avenue.  All 
winter  the  sun  has  not  been  permitted  to  see  dress- 
coats.  They  come  out  only  with  the  stars,  and  fade 
with  ghosts,  before  the  dawn.  Except,  haply,  they 
be  brought  homeward  before  breakfast  in  an  early 
twilight  of  hackney-coach.  Now,  in  the  budding 
and  bursting  summer,  the  sun  takes  his  revenge,  and 
looks  aslant  over  the  tree-tops  and  the  chimneys 
upon  the  most  unimpeachable  garments.  A  cat 
may  look  upon  a  king. 

I  know  my  man  at  a  distance.  If  I  am  chatting 
with  the  nursery  maids  around  the  fountain,  I  see 
him  upon  the  broad  walk  of  Washington  Square, 
and  detect  him  by  the  freshness  of  his  movement 
his  springy  gait.  Then  the  white  waistcoat  flashes 
in  the  sun. 

"  Go  on,  happy  youth,"  I  exclaim  aloud,  to  the 
great  alarm  of  the  nursery  maids,  who  suppose  me 
to  be  an  innocent  insane  person  suffered  to  go  at 
large,  unattended, — "  go  on,  and  be  happy  with  fel« 
low  waistcoats  over  fragrant  wines." 

It  is  hard  to  describe  the  pleasure  in  this  ami 
able  spectacle  of  a  man  going  out  to  dine.     I    who 


DINNER-TIME.  5 

am  a  quiet  family  man,  and  take  a  quiet  family  cut 
at  four  o'clock  ;  or,  when  I  am  detained  down  town 
by  a  false  quantity  in  my  figures,  who  run  intoDel- 
monico's  and  seek  comfort  in  a  cutlet,  am  rarely 
invited  to  dinner  and  have  few  white  waistcoats. 
Indeed,  my  dear  Prue  tells  me  that  I  have  but  one 
in  the  world,  and  I  often  want  to  confront  my  eager 
young  friends  as  they  bound  along,  and  ask  abruptly 
"  What  do  you  think  of  a  man  whom  one  white 
waistcoat  suffices  ?" 

By  the  time  I  have  eaten  my  modest  repast,  it  is 
the  hour  for  the  diners-out  to  appear.  If  the  day  is 
unusually  soft  and  sunny,  I  hurry  my  simple  meal  a 
little,  that  I  may  not  lose  any  of  my  favorite  spec 
tacle.  Then  I  saunter  out.  If  you  met  me  you 
would  see  that  I  am  also  clad  in  black.  But  black 
is  my  natural  color,  so  that  it  begets  no  false  theo 
ries  concerning  my  intentions.  Nobody,  meeting 
me  in  full  black,  supposes  that  I  am  going  to  dine 
out.  That  sombre  hue  is  professional  with  me.  It 
belongs  to  book-keepers  as  to  clergymen,  physicians, 
and  undertakers.  We  wear  it  because  we  follow 
solemn  callings.  Saving  men's  bodies  and  souls,  or 
keeping  the  machinery  of  business  well  wound,  are 
such  sad  professions  that  it  is  becoming  to  drape 
dolefully  those  who  adopt  them. 

I  wear  a  white  cravat,  too,  but  nobody  supposes 


G  PRUE    AND    I. 

that  it  is  ia  any  danger  of  being  stained  by  Lantte, 
It  is  a  limp  cravat  with  a  craven  tie.  It  has  none 
of  the  dazzling  dash  of  the  white  that  my  young 
friends  sport,  or,  I  should  say,  sported ;  for  the 
white  cravat  is  now  abandoned  to  the  sombre  pro 
fessions  of  which  I  spoke.  My  young  friends  sus 
pect  that  the  flunkeys  of  the  British  nobleman  wear 
such  ties,  and  they  have,  therefore,  discarded  them. 
I  am  sorry  to  remark,  also,  an  uneasiness,  if  not 
downright  skepticism,  about  the  white  waistcoat. 
Will  it  extend  to  shirts,  I  ask  myself  with  sorrow. 

But  there  is  something  pleasanter  to  contem 
plate  during  these  quiet  strolls  of  mine,  than  the 
men  who  are  going  to  dine  out,  and  that  is,  the 
women.  They  roll  in  carriages  to  the  happy 
houses  which  they  shall  honor,  and  I  strain  my 
eyes  in  at  the  carriage  window  to  see  their  cheerful 
faces  as  they  pass.  I  have  already  dined ;  upon 
beef  and  cabbage,  probably,  if  it  is  boiled  clay.  I 
I  am  not  expected  at  the  table  to  which  Aurelia  is 
hastening,  yet  no  guest  there  shall  enjoy  more  than 
I  enjoy, — nor  so  much,  if  he  considers  the  meats 
the  best  part  of  the  dinner.  The  beauty  of  the 
beautiful  Aurelia  I  see  and  worship  as  she  drives 
by.  The  vision  of  many  beautiful  Aurelias  driving 
to  dinner,  is  the  mirage  of  that  pleasant  journey 
of  mine  along  the  avenue.  I  do  not  envy  the 


DINNER-TIME.  7 

sian  poets,  on  those  afternoons,  nor  long  to  be  an 
Arabian  traveller.  For  I  can  walk  that  street, 
finer  than  any  of  which  the  Ispahan  architects 
dreamed ;  and  I  can  see  sultanas  as  splendid  as  the 
enthusiastic  and  exaggerating  Orientals  describe. 

But  not  only  do  I  see  and  enjoy  Aurelia's  beauty, 
I  delight  in  her  exquisite  attire.  In  these  warm 
days  she  does  not  wear  so  much  as  the  lightest 
shawl.  She  is  clad  only  in  spring  sunshine.  It 
glitters  in  the  soft  darkness  of  her  hair.  It  touches 
the  diamonds,  the  opals,  the  pearls,  that  cling  to 
her  arms,  and  neck,  and  fingers.  They  flash  back 
again,  and  the  gorgeous  silks  glisten,  and  the  light 
laces  flutter,  until  the  stately  Aurelia  seems  to  me, 
in  tremulous  radiance,  swimming  by. 

I  doubt  whether  you  who  are  to  have  the  inex 
pressible  pleasure  of  dining  with  her,  and  even  of 
sitting  by  her  side,  will  enjoy  more  than  I.  Foi 
my  pleasure  is  inexpressible,  also.  And  it  is  in  this 
greater  than  yours,  that  I  see  all  the  beautiful  ones 
who  are  to  dine  at  various  tables,  while  you  only 
see  your  own  circle ,  although  that,  I  will  not  deny, 
is  the  most  desirable  of  all. 

Beside,  although  my  person  is  not  present  at 
your  dinner,  my  fancy  is.  I  see  Aurelia's  carriage 
stop,  and  behold  white-gloved  servants  opening 
wide  doors.  There  is  a  brief  glimpse  of  magnifi 


8  PRUE   AND    I. 

cence  for  the  dull  eyes  of  the  loiterers  outside, 
then  the  door  closes.  But  my  fancy  went  in  with 
Aurelia.  With  her,  it  looks  at  the  vast  mirror,  and 
surveys  her  form  at  length  in  the  Psyche-glass.  It 
gives  the  final  shake  to  the  skirt,  the  last  flirt  to 
the  embroidered  handkerchief,  carefully  held,  and 
adjusts  the  bouquet,  complete  as  a  tropic  nestling 
in  orange  leaves.  It  descends  with  her,  and  marks 
the  faint  blush  upon  her  cheek  at  the  thought  of 
her  exceeding  beauty;  the  consciousness  of  the 
most  beautiful  woman,  that  the  most  beautiful 
woman  is  entering  the  room.  There  is  the  moment 
ary  hush,  the  subdued  greeting,  the  quick  glance 
of  the  Aurelias  who  have  arrived  earlier,  and  who 
perceive  in  a  moment  the  hopeless  perfection  of 
that  attire  ;  the  courtly  gaze  of  gentlemen,  who 
feel  the  serenity  of  that  beauty.  All  this  my  fancy 
surveys ;  my  fancy,  Aurelia's  invisible  cavalier. 

You  approach  with  hat  in  hand  and  the  thumb 
of  your  left  hand  in  your  waistcoat  pocket.  You 
are  polished  and  cool,  and  have  an  irreproachable 
repose  of  manner.  There  are  no  improper  wrinkles 
in  your  cravat ;  your  shirt-bosom  does  not  bulge , 
the  trowsers  are  accurate  about  your  admirable 
boot.  But  you  look  very  stiff  and  brittle.  You 
are  a  little  bullied  by  your  unexceptionable  shirt- 
collar,  which  interdicts  perfect  freedom  of  move 


DINNER-TIME.  9 

ment  in  your  head.  You  are  elegant,  undoubt 
edly,  but  it  seems  as  if  you  might  break  and  fall  to 
pieces,  like  a  porcelain  vase,  if  you  were  roughly 
shaken. 

Now,  here,  I  have  the  advantage  of  you.  My 
fancy  quietly  surveying  the  scene,  is  subject  to 
none  of  these  embarrassments.  My  fancy  will  not 
utter  commonplaces.  That  will  not  say  to  the 
superb  lady,  who  stands  with  her  flowers,  incar 
nate  May,  "  What  a  beautiful  day,  Miss  Aurelia." 
That  will  not  feel  constrained  to  say  something, 
when  it  has  nothing  to  say ;  nor  will  it  be  obliged 
to  smother  all  the  pleasant  things  that  occur,  be 
cause  they  would  be  too  flattering  to  express. 
My  fancy  perpetually  murmurs  in  Aurelia's  ear, 
"  Those  flowers  would  not  be  fair  in  your  hand, 
if  you  yourself  were  not  fairer.  That  diamond 
necklace  would  be  gaudy,  if  your  eyes  were  not 
brighter.  That  queenly  movement  would  be  awk 
ward,  if  your  soul  were  not  queenlier." 

You  could  not  say  such  things  to  Aurelia, 
although,  if  you  are  worthy  to  dine  at  her  side,  they 
are  the  very  things  you  are  longing  to  say.  What 
insufferable  stuff  you  are  talking  about  the  weather, 
and  the  opera,  and  Alboni's  delicious  voice,  and  New 
port,  and  Saratoga  !  They  are  all  very  pleasant 
subjects,  but  do  you  suppose  Ixion  talked  Thes 


XP 
fam 

\S*M^«Ni* 


10  PKUE    AND    I. 

saliaii  politics  when  he  was  admitted  to  dine  with 
Juno? 

I  almost  begin  to  pity  you,  and  to  believe  that  a 
scarcity  of  white  waistcoats  is  true  wisdom.  For 
now  dinner  is  announced,  and  you,  0  rare  felicity, 
are  to  hand  down  Aurelia.  But  you  run  the  risk 
of  tumbling  her  expansive  skirt,  and  you  have  to 
drop  your  hat  upon  a  chance  chair,  and' wonder,  en 
passant,  who  will  wear  it  home,  which  is  annoying. 
My  fancy  runs  no  such  risk ;  is  not  at  all  solicitous 
about  its  hat,  and  glides  by  the  side  of  Aurelia, 
stately  as  she.  There !  you  stumble  on  the  stair 
and  are  vexec1  at  your  own  awkwardness,  and  are 
sure  you  saw  the  ghost  of  a  smile  glimmer  along 
that  superb  face  at  your  side.  My  fancy  doesn't 
tumble  down  stairs,  and  what  kind  of  looks  it  sees 
upon  Aurelia's  face,  are  its  own  secret. 

Is  it  any  better,  now  you  are  seated  at  table? 
Your  companion  eats  little  because  she  wishes  little. 
You  eat  little  because  you  think  it  is  elegant  to  do 
so.  It  is  a  shabby,  second-hand  elegance,  like  your 
brittle  behavior.  It  is  just  as  foolish  for  you  to  play 
with  the  meats,  when  you  ought  to  satisfy  your 
healthy  appetite  generously,  as  it  is  for  you,  in  the 
drawing-room,  to  affect  that  cool  indifference  when 
vou  have  real  and  noble  interests. 

I  grant  you  that  fine  manners,  if  you  please,  are 


DINNER-TIME.  11 

a  fine  art.  But  is  not  monotony  the  destruction  of 
art  ?  Your  manners,  0  happy  Ixion,  banqueting 
with  Juno,  are  Egyptian.  They  have  no  per 
spective,  no  variety.  They  have  no  color,  nc 
shading.  They  are  all  on  a  dead  level ;  they 
are  flat.  Now,  for  you  are  a  man  of  sense,  you 
are  conscious  that  those  wonderful  eyes  of  Aurelia 
see  straight  through  all  this  net-work  of  elegant 
manners  in  which  you  have  entangled  yourself,  and 
that  consciousness  is  uncomfortable  to  you.  It  is 
another  trick  in  the  game  for  me,  because  those  eyes 
do  not  pry  into  my  fancy.  How  can  they,  since 
Aurelia  does  not  know  of  my  existence  ? 

Unless,  indeed,  she  should  remember  the  first 
time  I  saw  her.  It  was  only  last  year,  in  May.  I 
had  dined,  somewhat  hastily,  in  consideration  of 
the  fine  day,  and  of  my  confidence  that  many  would 
be  wending  dinnerwards  that  afternoon.  I  saw  my 
Prue  comfortably  engaged  in  seating  the  trowsers 
of  Adoniram,  our  eldest  boy — an  economical  care 
to  which  my  darling  Prue  is  not  unequal,  even  in 
these  days  and  in  this  town — and  then  hurried 
toward  the  avenue.  It  is  never  much  thronged  at 
that  hour.  The  moment  is  sacred  to  dinner.  As 
I  paused  at  the  corner  of  Twelfth  Street,  by  the 
church,  you  remember,  I  saw  an  apple- woman,  from 
whose  stores  I  determined  to  finish  my  dessert, 


12  P  RUE   AND   I. 

which  had  been  imperfect  at  home.  But,  mindful 
of  meritorious  and  economical  Prue,  I  was  not  the 
man  to  pay  exorbitant  prices  for  apples,  and  while 
still  haggling  with  the  wrinkled  Eve  who  had 
tempted  me,  I  became  suddenly  aware  of  a  carriage 
approaching,  and,  indeed,  already  close  by.  I  raised 
my  eyes,  still  munching  an  apple  which  I  held  in 
one  hand,  while  the  other  grasped  my  walking-stick 
(true  to  my  instincts  of  dinner  guests,  as  young  wo 
men  to  a  passing  wedding  or  old  ones  to  a  funeral), 
and  beheld  Aurelia ! 

Old  in  this  kind  of  observation  as  I  am,  there  was 
something  so  graciously  alluring  in  the  look  that 
she  cast  upon  me,  as  unconsciously,  indeed,  as  she 
would  have  cast  it  upon  the  church,  that,  fumbling 
hastily  for  my  spectacles  to  enjoy  the  boon  more 
fully,  I  thoughtlessly  advanced  upon  the  apple- 
stand,  and,  in  some  indescribable  manner,  tripping, 
down  we  all  fell  into  the  street,  old  woman,  apples, 
baskets,  stand,  and  I,  in  promiscuous  confusion. 
As  I  struggled  there,  somewhat  bewildered,  yet 
sufficiently  self-possessed  to  look  after  the  carriage, 
I  beheld  that  beautiful  woman  looking  at  ua 
through  the  back-window  (you  could  not  have 
done  it ;  the  integrity  of  your  shirt-collar  would 
have  interfered,)  and  smiling  pleasantly,  so  that  her 
going  around  the  corner  was  like  a  gentle  sunset 


DINNER  TIME  13 

so  seemed  sne  to  disappear  in  her  own  smiling ;  or 
— if  you  choose,  in  view  of  the  apple  difficulties — 
like  a  rainbow  after  a  storm. 

If  the  beautiful  Aurelia  recalls  that  event,  she 
may  know  of  my  existence  ;  not  otherwise.  And 
even  then  she  knows  me  only  as  a  funny  old  gentle 
man,  who,  in  his  eagerness  to  look  at  her,  tumbled 
over  an  apple-woman. 

My  fancy  from  that  moment  followed  her.  How 
grateful  I  was  to  the  wrinkled  Eve's  extortion,  and 
to  the  untoward  tumble,  since  it  procured  me  the 
sight  of  that  smile.  I  took  my  sweet  revenge  from 
that.  For  I  knew  that  the  beautiful  Aurelia  en 
tered  the  house  of  her  host  with  beaming  eyes,  and 
my  fancy  heard  her  sparkling  story.  You  consider 
yourself  happy  because  you  are  sitting  by  her  and 
helping  her  to  a  lady-finger,  or  a  macaroon,  for 
which  she  smiles.  But  I  was  her  theme  for  ten 
mortal  minutes.  She  was  my  bard,  my  blithe  his 
torian.  She  was  the  Homer  of  my  luckless  Trojan 
fall.  She  set  my  mishap  to  music,  in  telling  it. 
Think  what  it  is  to  have  inspired  Urania;  to  have 
called  a  brighter  beam  into  the  eyes  of  Miranda,  and 
do  not  think  so  much  of  passing  Aurelia  the  mot 
toes,  my  dear  young  friend. 

There  was  the  advantage  of  not  going  to  that 
dinner.  Had  I  been  invited,  as  you  were,  I  should 


14  PRUE    AN  D    I. 

have  pestered  Prue  about  the  buttons  on  my  white 
waistcoat,  instead  of  leaving  her  placidly  piecing 
adolescent  trowsers.  She  would  have  been  flus 
tered,  fearful  of  being  too  late,  of  tumbling  the 
garment,  of  soiling  it,  fearful  of  offending  me  in 
some  way,  (admirable  woman  !)  I,  in  my  natural 
impatience,  might  have  let  drop  a  thoughtless  word, 
which  would  have  been  a  pang  in  her  heart  and  a 
tear  in  her  eye,  for  weeks  afterward. 

As  I  walked  nervously  up  the  avenue  (for  I  am 
unaccustomed  to  prandial  recreations),  I  should  not 
have  had  that  solacing  image  of  quiet  Prue,  and  the 
trowsers,  as  the  back-ground  in  the  pictures  of  the 
gay  figures  I  passed,  making  each,  by  contrast, 
fairer.  I  should  have  been  wondering  what  to  say 
and  do  at  the  dinner.  I  should  surely  have  been  very 
wTarm,  and  yet  not  have  enjoyed  the  rich,  waning 
sunlight.  Need  I  tell  you  that  I  should  not  have 
"stopped  for  apples,  but  instead  of  economically 
tumbling  into  the  street  with  apples  and  apple- 
women,  whereby  I  merely  rent  my  trowsers  across 
the  knee,  in  a  manner  that  Prue  can  readily,  and  at 
little  cost,  repair,  I  should,  beyond  peradventure, 
have  split  a  new  dollar-pair  of  gloves  in  the  effort 
of  straining  my  large  hands  into  them,  which  would, 
also,  have  caused  me  additiona1  redness  in  the  face, 
nd  renewed  fluttering. 


DINNER-TIME.  15 

Above  all,  I  should  not  have  seen  Aurelia  pass 
ing  in  her  carriage,  nor  would  she  have  smiled  at 
me,  nor  charmed  my  memory  with  her  radiance^ 
nor  the  circle  at  dinner  with  the  sparkling  Iliad  of 
my  woes.  Then  at  the  table,  I  should  not  have  sat 
by  her.  You  would  have  had  that  pleasure ;  I 
should  have  led  out  the  maiden  aunt  from  the 
country,  and  have  talked  poultry,  when  I  talked  at 
all.  Aurelia  would  not  have  remarked  me.  After 
ward,  in  describing  the  dinner  to  her  virtuous 
parents,  she  would  have  concluded,  "  and  one  old 
gentleman,  whom  I  didn't  know." 

No,  my  polished  friend,  whose  elegant  repose  of 
manner  I  yet  greatly  commend,  I  am  content,  if 
you  are.  How  much  better  it  was  that  I  was  not 
invited  to  that  dinner,  but  was  permitted,  by  a 
kind  fate,  to  furnish  a  subject  for  Aurelia's  wit. 

There  is  one  other  advantage  in  sending  your 
fancy  to  dinner,  instead  of  going  yourself.  It  is, 
that  then  the  occasion  remains  wholly  fair  in  your 
memory.  You,  who  devote  yourself  to  dining  out, 
and  who  are  to  be  daily  seen  affably  sitting  down  to 
such  feasts,  as  I  know  mainly  by  hearsay — by  the 
report  of  waiters,  guests,  and  others  who  were 
present — you  cannot  escape  the  little  things  that 
spoil  the  picture,  and  which  the  fancy  docs  not 
see. 


Ifl  P  RUE    AND    I. 

For  instance,  in  handing  you  the  potage  a  la 
Bisque  at  the  very  commencement  of  this  dinner 
to-day,  John,  the  waiter,  who  never  did  such  a 
thing  before,  did  this  time  suffer  the  plate  to  tip,  so 
that  a  little  of  that  rare  soup  dripped  into  your  lap 
— -just  enough  to  spoil  those  trowsers,  which  is 
nothing  to  you,  because  you  can  buy  a  great  many 
more  trowsers,  but  which  little  event  is  inharmo 
nious  with  the  fine  porcelain  dinner  service,  with 
the  fragrant  wines,  the  glittering  glass,  the  beauti 
ful  guests,  and  the  mood  of  mind  suggested  by  all 
of  these.  There  is,  in  fact,  if  you  will  pardon  a  free 
use  of  the  vernacular,  there  is  a  grease-spot  upon 
your  remembrance  of  this  dinner. 

Or,  in  the  same  way,  and  with  the  same  kind  of 
mental  result,  you  can  easily  imagine  the  meats  a 
little  tough  ;  a  suspicion  of  smoke  somewhere  in 
the  sauces;  too  much  pepper,  perhaps,  or  too  little 
salt ;  or  there  might  be  the  graver  dissonance  of 
claret  not  properly  attempered,  or  a  choice  Rhenish 
below  the  average  mark,  or  the  spilling  of  some  of 
that  Arethusa  Madeira,  marvellous  for  its  innumer 
able  circumnavigations  of  the  globe,  and  for  being 
as  dry  as  the  conversation  of  the  host.  These 
things  are  not  up  to  the  high  level  of  the  dinner  ;  for 
wherever  Aurelia  dines,  all  accessories  should  be  as 
perfect  in  their  kind  as  she,  the  principal,  is  in  hers 


DlNNElt-TIME.  17 

That  reminds  me  of  a  possible  dissonance  worse 
than  all.  Suppose  that  soup  had  trickled  down  the 
unimaginable  berthe  of  Aurelia's  dress  (since  it  might 
have  done  so),  instead  of  wasting  itself  upon  your 
trowsers  !  Could  even  the  irreproachable  elegance 
of  your  manners  have  contemplated,  unmoved,  a 
grease-spot  upon  your  remembrance  of  the  peerless 
Aurelia? 

You  smile,  of  course,  and  remind  me  that  that 
lady's  manners  are  so  perfect  that,  if  she.  drank 
poison,  she  would  wipe  her  mouth  after  it  as  grace 
fully  as  ever.  How  much  more  then,  you  say,  in 
the  case  of  such  a  slight  contretemps  as  spotting  her 
dress,  would  she  appear  totally  unmoved. 

So  she  would,  undoubtedly.  She  would  be,  and 
look,  as  pure  as  ever ;  but,  my  young  friend, 
her  dress  would  not.  Once,  I  dropped  a  pickled 
oyster  in  the  lap  of  my  Prue,  who  wore,  on  the  oc 
casion,  her  sea-green  silk  gown.  I  did  not  love  my 
Prue  the  less;  but  there  certainly  was  a  very  un 
handsome  spot  upon  her  dress.  And  although  I 
know  my  Prue  to  be  spotless,  yet,  whenever  I  re 
call  that  day,  I  see  her  in  a  spotted  gown,  and  I 
would  prefer  never  to  have  been  obliged  to  think  of 
her  in  such  a  garment. 

Can  you  not  make  the  application  to  the  case, 
very  likely  to  happen,  of  some  disfigurement  oi 


18  PRUE    AND     I. 

that  exquisite  toilette  of  Aurelia's?  In  going  down 
stairs,  for  instance,  why  should  not  heavy  old  Mr 
Carbuncle,  who  is  coming  close  behind  with  Mrs. 
Peony,  both  very  eager  for  dinner,  tread  upon  the 
hem  of  that  garment  which  my  lips  would  grow 
pale  to  kiss?  The  august  Aurelia,  yielding  to 
natural  laws,  would  be  drawn  suddenly  backward — 
a  very  undignified  movement — and  the  dress  would 
be  dilapidated.  There  would  be  apologies,  and 
smiles, .and  forgiveness,  and  pinning  up  the  pieces, 
nor  would  therej>e  the  faintest  feeling  of  awkward 
ness  or  vexation  in  Aurelia's  mind.  But  to  you, 
looking  on,  and,  beneath  all  that  pure  show  of  waist 
coat,  cursing  old  Carbuncle's  carelessness,  this  tear 
ing  of  dresses  and  repair  of  the  toilette  is  by  no 
means  a  poetic  and  cheerful  spectacle.  Nay,  the 
very  impatience  that  it  produces  in  your  mind  jars 
upon  the  harmony  of  the  moment. 

You  will  respond,  with  proper  scorn,  that  you 
are  not  so  absurdly  fastidious  as  to  heed  the  little 
necessary  drawbacks  of  social  meetings,  and  that 
you  have  not  much  regard  for  "  the  harmony  of  the 
occasion"  (which  phrase  I  fear  you  will  repeat  in  a 
sneering  tone).  You  will  do  very  right  in  saying 
this ;  and  it  is  a  remark  to  which  I  shall  give  all 
the  hospitality  of  my  mind,  and  I  do  so  because  I 
heartily  coincide  in  it.  I  hold  a  man  to  be  very 


- 

; 


• 

DINNER-TIME.  19 

foolish  who  will  not  eat  a  good  dinner  because  the 
table-cloth  is  not  clean,  or  who  cavils  at  the  spots 
upon  the  sun.  But  still  a  man  who  does  not  apply 
his  eye  to  a  telescope  or  some  kind  of  prepared 
medium,  does  not  see  those  spots,  while  he  has  just 
as  much  light  and  heat  as  he  who  does. 

So  it  is  with  me.  I  walk  in  the  avenue,  and 
eat  all  the  delightful  dinners  without  seeing  the 
spots  upon  the  table-cloth,  and  behold  all  the  beau 
tiful  Aurelias  without  swearing  at  old  Carbuncle.  I 
am  the  guest  who,  for  the  small  price  of  invisibility, 
drinks  only  the  best  wines,  and  talks  only  to  the 
most  agreeable  people.  That  is  something,  I  can 
tell  you,  for  you  might  be  asked  to  lead  out  old  Mrs. 
Peony.  My  fancy  slips  in  between  you  and  Aurelia, 
sit  you  never  so  closely  together.  It  not  only  hears 
what  she  says,  but  it  perceives  what  she  thinks  and 
feels.  It  lies  like  a  bee  in  her  flowery  thoughts, 
sucking  all  their  honey.  If  there  are  unhandsome 
or  unfeeling  guests  at  table,  it  will  not  see  them. 
It  knows  only  the  good  and  fair.  As  I  stroll  in  the 
fading  light  and  observe  the  stately  houses,  my 
fancy  believes  the  host  equal  to  his  house,  and  the 
courtesy  of  his  wrife  more  agreeable  than  her  con 
servatory.  It  will  not  believe  that  the  pictures  on 
the  wall  and  the  statues  in  the  corners  shame  the 
uests.  It  will  not  allow  that  they  are  less  than 


20  PRTJE    AND    I. 

noble.  It  hears  them  speak  gently  of  error,  and 
warmly  of  worth.  It  knows  that  they  commend 
heroism  and  devotion,  and  reprobate  insincerity. 
My  fancy  is  convinced  that  the  guests  are  not  only 
feasted  upon  the  choicest  fruits  of  every  land  and 
season,  but  are  refreshed  by  a  consciousness  of 
greater  loveliness  and  grace  in  human  character. 

Now  you,  who  actually  go  to  the  dinner,  may 
not  entirely  agree  with  the  view  my  fancy  takes  of 
that  entertainment.  Is  it  not,  therefore,  rather 
your  loss  ?  Or,  to  put  it  in  another  way,  ought  I 
to  envy  you  the  discovery  that  the  guests  arc 
shamed  by  the  statues  and  pictures ; — yes,  and  by 
the  spoons  and  forks  also,  if  they  should  chance 
neither  to  be  so  genuine  nor  so  useful  as  those  in 
struments  ?  And,  worse  than  this,  when  your 
fancy  wishes  to  enjoy  the  picture  which  mine  forms 
of  that  feast,  it  cannot  do  so,  because  you  have 
foolishly  interpolated  the  fact  between  the  dinner 
and  your  fancy. 

Of  course,  by  this  time  it  is  late  twilight,  and 
the  spectacle  I  enjoyed  is  almost  over.  But  not 
quite,  for  as  I  return  slowly  along  the  streets,  the 
windows  are  open,  and  only  a  thin  haze  of  lace  or 
muslin  separates  me  from  the  Paradise  within. 

I  see  the  graceful  cluster  of  girls  hovering  over 
the  piano,  and  the  quiet  groups  of  the  elders  in 


DINNEE-TIME.  21 

easy  chairs,  around  little  tables  I  cannot  hear 
what  is  said,  nor  plainly  see  the  faces.  But  some 
hoyden  evening  wind,  more  daring  than  I,  abruptly 
parts  the  cloud  to  look  in,  and  out  comes  a  gush  of 
light,  music,  and  fragrance,  so  that  I  shrink  away 
into  the  dark,  that  I  may  not  seem,  even  by  chance, 
to  have  invaded  that  privacy. 

Suddenly  there  is  singing.  It  is  Aurelia,  who 
does  not  cope  with  the  Italian  Prima  Donna,  nor 
sing  indifferently  to-night,  what  was  sung  superbly 
last  evening  at  the  opera.  She  has  a  strange,  low 
sweet  voice,  as  if  she  only  sang  in  the  twilight.  It 
is  the  balled  of  "  Allan  Percy"  that  she  sings. 
There  is  no  dainty  applause  of  kid  gloves,  when  it 
is  ended,  but  silence  follows  the  singing,  like  a 
tear. 

Then  you,  my  young  friend,  ascend  into  the 
drawing-room,  and,  after  a  little  graceful  gossip, 
retire  ;  or  you  wait,  possibly,  to  hand  Aurelia  into 
her  carriage,  and  to  arrange  a  waltz  for  to-morrow 
evening.  She  smiles,  you  bow,  and  it  is  over.  But 
it  is  not  yet  over  with  me.  My  fancy  still  follows 
her,  and,  like  a  prophetic  dream,  rehearses  her  des 
tiny.  For,  as  the  carriage  rolls  away  into  the  dark 
ness  and  I  return  homewards,  how  can  my  fancy 
help  rolling  away  also,  into  the  dim  future,  watch 
ing  her  go  down  the  years  ? 


22  PRUEANDI. 

Upon  my  way  home  T  see  her  in  a  thousand  now 
situations.  My  fancy  bays  to  me,  "  The  beauty  of 
this  beautiful  woman  is  heaven's  stamp  upon  virtue. 
She  will  be  equal  to  every  chance  that  shall  befall 
her,  and  she  is  so  radiant  and  charming  in  the  circle 
of  prosperity,  only  because  she  has  that  irresistible 
simplicity  and  fidelity  of  character,  which  can  also 
pluck  the  sting  from  adversity.  Do  you  not  see, 
you  wan  old  book-keeper  in  faded  cravat,  that  in  a 
poor  man's  house  this  superb  Aurelia  would  be  more 
stately  than  sculpture,  more  beautiful  than  painting,, 
and  more  graceful  than  the  famous  vases.  Would 
her  husband  regret  the  opera  if  she  sang  « Allan 
Percy'  to  him  in  the  twilight  ?  Would  he  not  feel 
richer  than  the  Poets,  when  his  eyes  rose  from  their 
jewelled  pages,  to  fall  again  dazzled  by  the  splendor 
of  his  wife's  beauty  ?" 

At  this  point  in  my  reflections  I  sometimes  run, 
rather  violently,  against  a  lamp-post,  and  then  pro 
ceed  along  the  street  more  sedately. 

It  is  yet  early  when  I  reach  home,  where  my 
Prue  awaits  me.  The  children  are  asleep,  and  the 
trowsers  mended.  The  admirable  woman  is  patient 
of  my  idiosyncrasies,  and  asks  me  if  I  have  had  a 
pleasant  walk,  and  if  there  were  many  fine  dinners 
to-day,  as  if  I  had  been  expected  at  a  dozen  tables, 
She  even  asks  me  if  I  have  seen  the  beautiful  Aure- 


DINNER-TIME.  23 

lia  (foi  there  is  always  some  Aurelia,)  arid  inquires 
what  dress  she  wore.  I  respond,  and  dilate  upon 
what  I  have  seen.  Prue  listens,  as  the  children 
listen  to  her  fairy  tales.  We  discuss  the  little 
stories  that  penetrate  our  retirement,  of  the  great 
people  who  actually  dine  out.  Prue,  with  fine  wo- 
manly  instinct,  declares  it  is  a  shame  that  Aurelia 

should  smile  for  a  moment  upon ,  yes,  even 

upon  you,  my  friend  of  the  irreproachable  man 
ners  ! 

"I  know  him,"  says  my  simple  Prue;  "I  have 
watched  his  cold  courtesy,  his  insincere  devotion. 
I  have  seen  him  acting  in  the  boxes  at  the  opera, 
much  more  adroitly  than  the  singers  upon  the  stage. 
I  have  read  his  determination  to  marry  Aurelia  ;  and 
I  shall  not  be  surprised,"  concludes  my  tender  wife, 
sadly,  "  if  he  wins  her  at  last,  by  tiring  her  out,  or, 
by  secluding  her  by  his  constant  devotion  from  the 
homage  of  other  men,  convinces  her  that  she  had 
better  marry  him,  since  it  is  so  dismal  to  live  on 
unmarried." 

And  so,  my  friend,  at  the  moment  when  the 
bouquet  you  ordered  is  arriving  at  Aurelia's  house, 
and  she  is  sitting  before  the  glass  while  her  maid 
arranges  the  last  flower  in  her  hair,  my  darling  Prue, 
whom  you  will  never  hear  of,  is  shedding  warm 
tears  over  your  probable  union,  and  I  am  sitting  by 


24  PEUE    AND    I. 

adjusting  my  cravat  and  incontinently  clearing  my 
throat. 

It  is  rather  a  ridiculous  business,  I  allow ,  yet 
you  will  smile  at  it  tenderly,  rather  than  scornfully, 
if  you  remember  that  it  shows  how  closely  linked 
we  human  creatures  are,  without  knowing  it,  and 
that  more  hearts  than  we  dream  of  enjoy  our  hap 
piness  and  share  our  sorrow. 

Thus,  I  dine  at  great  tables  uninvited,  and,  un 
known,  converse  with  the  famous  beauties.  If 
Aurelia  is  at  last  engaged,  (but  who  is  worthy?) 
she  will,  with  even  greater  care,  arrange  that  won 
drous  toilette,  will  teach  that  lace  a  fall  more  allur 
ing,  those  gems  a  sweeter  light.  But  even  then,  as 
she  rolls  to  dinner  in  her  carriage,  glad  that  she  is 
fair,  not  for  her  own  sake  nor  for  the  world's,  but  for 
that  of  a  single  youth  (who,  I  hope,  has  not  been 
smoking  at  the  club  all  the  morning),  I,  sauntering 
upon  the  sidewalk,  see  her  pass,  I  pay  homage  to 
her  beauty,  and  her  lover  can  do  no  more ;  and  if, 
perchance,  my  garments — which  must  seem  quaint 
to  her,  with  their  shining  knees  and  carefully  brushed 
elbows ;  my  white  cravat,  careless,  yet  prim ;  my 
meditative  movement,  as  I  put  my  stick  under  my 
arm  to  pare  an  apple,  and  not,  I  hope,  this  time  to 
fall  into  the  street, — should  remind  her,  in  her  spring 
f  youth,  and  beauty,  and  love,  that  there  are  age, 


*    DINNER-TIME.  25 

and  care,  and  poverty,  also  ;  then,  perhaps,  the  good 
fortune  of  the  meeting  is  not  wholly  mine. 

For,  0  beautiful  Aurelia,  two  of  these  things,  at 
least,  must  come  even  to  you.  There  will  be  a  time 
when  you  will  no  longer  go  out  to  dinner,  or  only 
very  quietly,  in  the  family.  I  shall  be  gone  then ; 
but  other  old  book-keepers  in  white  cravats  will 
inherit  my  tastes,  and  saunter,  on  summer  afternoonsj 
to  see  what  I  loved  to  see. 

They  will  not  pause,  I  fear,  in  buying  apples,  to 
look  at  the  old  lady  in  venerable  cap,  who  is  rolling 
by  in  the  carriage.  They  will  worship  another 
Aurelia.  You  will  not  wear  diamonds  or  opals  any 
more,  only  one  pearl  upon  your  blue-veined  finger — 
your  engagement  ring.  Grave  clergymen  and  anti 
quated  beaux  will  hand  you  down  to  dinner,  and  the 
group  of  polished  youth,  who  gather  around  the  yet 
unborn  Aurelia  of  that  day,  will  look  at  you,  sitting 
quietly  upon  the  sofa,  and  say,  softly,  "  She  must 
have  been  very  handsome  in  her  time." 

All  this  must  be :  for  consider  how  few  years 
since  it  was  your  grandmother  who  was  the  belle, 
by  whose  side  the  handsome  young  men  longed  to 
sit  and  pass  expressive  mottoes.  Your  grandmother 
was  the  Aurelia  of  a  half-century  ago,  although  you 
cannot  fancy  her  young.  She  is  indissolubly  asso 
ciated  in  your  mind  with  caps  and  dark  dresses.  You 
2 


26  PR  UE    AND    1. 

can  Delieve  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  or  Nell  GwyL  01 
Cleopatra,  to  have  been  young  and  blooming,  al 
though  they  belong  to  old  and  dead  centuries,  but 
not  your  grandmother.  Think  of  those  who  shall 
believe  the  same  of  you — you,  who  to-day  are  the 
very  flower  of  youth. 

Might  I  plead  with  you,  Aurelia — I,  who  would 
be  too  happy  to  receive  one  of  those  graciously 
beaming  bows  that  I  see  you  bestow  upon  young 
men,  in  passing, — I  would  ask  you  to  bear  that 
thought  with  you,  always,  not  to  sadden  your  sunny 
smile,  but  to  give  it  a  more  subtle  grace.  Wear  in 
your  summer  garland  this  little  leaf  of  rue.  It  will 
not  be  the  skull  at  the  feast,  it  will  rather  be  the 
tender  thoughtfulness  in  the  face  of  the  young 
Madonna. 

For  the  years  pass  like  summer  clouds,  Aurelia, 
and  the  children  of  yesterday  are  the  wives  and 
mothers  of  to-day.  Even  I  do  sometimes  discover 
the  mild  eyes  of  my  Prue  fixed  pensively  upon  my 
face,  as  if  searching  for  the  bloom  which  she  re 
members  there  in  the  days,  long  ago,  when  we  were 
young.  She  will  never  see  it  there  again,  any  more 
than  the  flowers  she  held  in  her  hand,  in  our  old 
spring  rambles.  Yet  the  tear  that  slowly  gathers 
as  she  gazes,  is  not  grief  that  the  bloom  has  faded 
from  my  cheek,  but  the  sweet  consciousness  that  it 


DINNER-TIME.  27 

can  never  fade  from  my  heart ;  and  as  her  eyes  fall 
upon  her  work  again,  or  the  children  climb  her  lap 
to  hear  the  old  fairy  tales  they  already  know  by 
heart,  my  wife  Prue  is  dearer  to  me  than  the  sweet 
heart  of  those  days  long  ago. 


MY  CHATEAUX, 


"In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree." 

Coleridge. 


MY    CHATEAUX. 

"  la  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree. " 

Coleridge. 

I  AM  the  owner  of  great  estates.  Many  of  them 
lie  in  the  West;  but  the  greater  part  are  in  Spain. 
You  may  see  my  western  possessions  any  evening 
at  sunset  when  their  spires  and  battlements  flash 
against  the  horizon. 

It' gives  me  a  feeling  of  pardonable  importance, 
as  a  proprietor,  that  they  are  visible,  to  my  eyes  at 
least,  from  any  part  of  the  world  in  which  I  chance 
to  be.  In  my  long  voyage  around  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  to  India  (the  only  voyage  I  ever  made,  when 
I  was  a  boy  and  a  supercargo),  if  I  fell  home-sick, 
or  sank  into  a  reverie  of  all  the  pleasant  homes  I 
had  left  behind,  I  had  but  to  wait  until  sunset,  and 
then  looking  toward  the  west,  I  beheld  my  cluster 
ing  pinnacles  and  towers  brightly  burnished  as  if 
to  salute  and  welcome  me. 

So,  in  the  city,  if  I  get  vexed  and  wearied,  and 
cannot  find  my  wonted  solace  in  sallying  forth  at 


32  PR  UE    AND    I. 

dinner-time  to  contemplate  the  gay  world  of  youth 
and  beauty  hurrying  to  the  congress  of  fashion, — or 
if  I  observe  that  years  are  deepening  their  tracks 
around  the  eyes  of  my  wife,  Prue,  I  go  quietly  up 
to  the  housetop,  toward  evening,  and  refresh  myself 
with  a  distant  prospect  of  my  estates.  It  is  as 
dear  to  me  as  that  of  Eton  to  the  poet  Gray ;  and, 
if  I  sometimes  wonder  at  such  moments  whether  I 
shall  find  those  realms  as  fair  as  they  appear,  I  am 
suddenly  reminded  that  the  night  air  may  be  noxi 
ous,  and  descending,  I  enter  the  little  parlor  where 
Prue  sits  stitching,  and  surprise  that  precious  woman 
by  exclaiming  with  the  poet's  pensive  enthusiasm  ; 

"  Thought  would  destroy  their  Paradise, 
No  more  ; — where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'Tis  folly  to  be  wise." 

Columbus,  also,  had  possessions  in  the  West ;  and 
as  I  read  aloud  the  romantic  story  of  his  life,  my 
voice  quivers  when  I  come  to  the  point  in  which  it 
is  related  that  sweet  odors  of  the  land  mingled  with 
the  sea-air,  as  the  admiral's  fleet  approached  the 
shores  ;  that  tropical  birds  flew  out  and  fluttered 
around  the  ships,  glittering  in  the  sun,  the  gorgeous 
promises  of  the  new  country;  that  boughs,  per 
haps  with  blossoms  not  all  decayed,  floated  out  to 
welcome  the  strange  wood  from  which  the  craft 


MY    CHATEAUX..  33 

were  hollowed.  Then  I  cannot  restrain  myself, 
I  think  of  the  gorgeous  visions  I  have  seen  before 
I  have  even  undertaken  the  journey  to  the  West, 
and  I  cry  aloud  to  Prue : 

"  What  sun-bright  birds,  and  gorgeous  blossoms, 
and  celestial  odors  will  float  out  to  us,  my  Prue,  as 
•we  approach  our  western  possessions!" 

The  placid  Prue  raises  her  eyes  to  mine  with  a 
reproof  so  delicate  that  it  could  not  be  trusted  to 
words  ;  and,  after  a  moment,  she  resumes  her  knit 
ting  and  I  proceed. 

These  are  rny  western  estates,  but  my  finest  cas 
ties  are  in  Spain.  It  is  a  country  famously  roman 
tic,  and  my  castles  are  all  of  perfect  proportions, 
and  appropriately  set  in  the  most  picturesque  situa 
tions.  I  have  never  been  to  Spain  myself,  but  I 
have  naturally  conversed  much  with  travellers  to 
that  country ;  although,  I  must  allow,  without  de 
riving  from  them  much  substantial  information 
about  my  property  there.  The  wisest  of  them  told 
me  that  there  were  more  holders  of  real  estate  in 
Spain  than  in  any  other  region  he  had  ever  heard  of 
and  they  are  all  great  proprietors.  Every  one  of 
them  possesses  a  multitude  of  the  stateliest  castles. 
From  conversation  with  them  you  easily  gather 
that  each  one  considers  his  own  castles  much  the 

largest  and  in  the  loveliest  positions.     And,  after  ] 
2* 


34  PRUE    AND    I 

had  heard  this  said,  I  verified  it,  by  discovering  that 
all  my  immediate  neighbors  in  the  city  were  great 
Spanish  proprietors. 

One  day  as  I  raised  my  head  from  entering  some 
long  and  tedious  accounts  in  my  books,  and  began 
to  reflect  that  the  quarter  was  expiring,  and  that  I 
must  begin  to  prepare  the  balance-sheet,  I  observed 
my  subordinate,  in  office  but  not  in  years,  (for  poor 
old  Titbottom  will  never  see  sixty  again !)  leaning 
on  his  hand,  arid  much  abstracted. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  Titbottom  !"  asked  I. 

"Perfectly,  but  I  was  just  building  a  castle  in 
Spain,"  said  he. 

I  looked  at  his  rusty  coat,  his  faded  hands,  his  sad 
eye,  and  white  hair,  for  a  moment,  in  great  surprise, 
and  then  inquired, 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  own  property  there 
too  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  silently;  and  still  leaning  on 
his  hand,  and  with  an  expression  in  his  eye,  as  if  he 
were  looking  upon  the  most  fertile  estate  of  Anda 
lusia,  he  went  on  making  his  plans  ;  laying  out  his 
gardens,  I  suppose,  building  terraces  for  the  vines, 
determining  a  library  with  a  southern  exposure,  and 
resolving  which  should  be  the  tapestried  chamber. 

"  What  a  singular  whim,"  thought  I,  as  I  watched 
Titbottom  and  filled  up  a  cheque  for  four  hundred 


MY    CHATEAUX.  35 

dollars,  my  quarterly  salary,  "  that  a  man  who  owns 
castles  in  Spain  should  be  deputy  book-keeper  at 
nine  hundred  dollars  a  year!" 

When  I  went  home  I  ate  my  dinner  silently,  and 
afterward  sat  for  a  long  time  upon  the  roof  of  the 
house,  looking  at  my  western  property,  and  thinking 
of  Titbottom. 

It  is  remarkable  that  none  of  the  proprietors  have 
ever  been  to  Spain  to  take  possession  and  report  to 
the  rest  of  us  the  state  of  our  property  there.  I,  of 
course,  cannot  go,  I  am  too  much  engaged.  So  is  Tit- 
bottom.  And  I  find  it  is  the  case  with  all  the  proprie 
tors.  We  have  so  much  to  detain  us  at  home  that  we 
cannot  get  away.  But  it  is  always  so  with  rich  men. 
Prue  sighed  once  as  she  sat  at  the  window  and  saw 
Bourne,  the  millionaire,  the  President  of  innumera 
ble  companies,  and  manager  and  director  of  all  the 
charitable  societies  in  town,  going  by  with  wrinkled 
brow  and  hurried  step.  I  asked  her  why  she  sighed. 

"  Because  I  was  remembering  that  my  mother 
used  to  tell  me  not  to  desire  great  riches,  for  they 
occasioned  great  cares,"  said  she. 

"They  do  indeed,"  answered  I,  with  emphasis, 
remembering  Titbottom,  and  the  impossibility  of 
looking  after  my  Spanish  estates. 

Prue  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  mild  surprise ; 
but  I  saw  that  her  mind  had  gone  down  the  street 


36  PRUEANDI 

with  Bourne.  I  could  never  discover  if  he  held 
much  Spanish  stock.  But  I  think  he  does.  All 
the  Spanish  proprietors  have  a  certain  expression. 
Bourne  has  it  to  a  remarkable  degree.  It  is  a  kind 
of  look,  as  if,  in  fact,  a  man's  mind  were  in  Spain. 
Bourne  was  an  old  lover  of  Prue's,  and  he  is  not 
married,  which  is  strange  for  a  man  in  his  position. 

It  is  not  easy  for  me  to  say  how  I  know  so  much, 
as  I  certainly  do,  about  my  castles  in  Spain.  The 
sun  always  shines  upon  them.  They  stand  lofty 
and  fair  in  a  luminous,  golden  atmosphere,  a  little 
hazy  and  dreamy,  perhaps,  like  the  Indian  summer, 
but  in  which  no  gales  blow  and  there  are  no  tem 
pests.  All  the  sublime  mountains,  and  beautiful 
valleys,  and  soft  landscape,  that  I  have  not  yet  seen, 
are  to  be  found  in  the  grounds.  They  command  a 
noble  view  of  the  Alps;  so  fine,  indeed,  that  I 
should  be  quite  content  with  the  prospect  of  them 
from  the  highest  tower  of  my  castle,  and  not  care 
to  go  to  Switzerland. 

The  neighboring  ruins,  too,  are  as  picturesque  as 
those  of  Italy,  and  my  desire  of  standing  in  the 
Coliseum,  and  of  seeing  the  shattered  arches  of  the 
Aqueducts  stretching  along  the  Campagna  and 
melting  into  the  Alban  Mount,  is  entirely  quenched. 
The  rich  gloom  of  my  orange  groves  is  gilded  by 
fruit  as  brilliant  of  complexion  and  exquisite  of 


MY    CHATEAUX  37 

flavor  as  any  that  ever  dark-eyed  Sorrento  girls, 
looking  over  the  high  plastered  walls  of  southern 
Italy,  hand  to  the  youthful  travellers,  climbing  on 
donkeys  up  the  narrow  lane  beneath. 

The  Nile  flows  through  my  grounds.  The  Desert 
lies  upon  their  edge,  and  Damascus  stands  in  my 
garden.  I  am  given  to  understand,  also,  that  the 
Parthenon  has  been  removed  to  my  Spanish  posses 
sions.  The  Golden-Horn  is  my  fish-preserve ;  my 
flocks  of  golden  fleece  are  pastured  on  the  plain  of 
Marathon,  and  the  honey  of  Hymettus  is  distilled 
from  the  flowers  that  grow  in  the  vale  of  Enna — 
all  in  my  Spanish  domains. 

From  the  windows  of  those  castles  look  the  beau 
tiful  women  whom  I  have  never  seen,  whose  por 
traits  the  poets  have  painted.  They  wait  for  me 
there,  and  chiefly  the  fair-haired  child,  lost  to  my 
eyes  so  long  ago,  now  bloomed  into  an  impossible 
beauty.  The  lights  that  never  shone,  glance  at 
evening  in  the  vaulted  halls,  upon  banquets  that 
were  never  spread.  The  bands  I  have  never  col 
lected,  play  all  night  long,  and  enchant  the  brilliant 
company,  that  was  never  assembled,  into  silence. 

In  the  long  summer  mornings  the  children  that  I  LK 
never  had,  play  in  the  gardens  that  I  never  planted. 
I  hear  their  sweet  voices  sounding  low  and  far  away, 
calling    "Father!  Father'"     I   see  the   lost   fair- 


38  P RUE    AND    I 

haired  girl,  grown  now  into  a  woman,  descending 
the  stately  stairs  of  my  castle  in  Spain,  stepping 
out  upon  the  lawn,  and  playing  with  those  children. 
They  bound  away  together  down  the  garden;  but 
those  voices  linger,  this  time  airily  calling,  "  Mo 
ther  !  mother!" 

But  there  is  a  stranger  magic  than  this  in  my 
Spanish  estates.  The  lawny  slopes  on  which,  when 
a  child,  I  played,  in  my  father's  old  country  place, 
which  was  sold  when  he  failed,  are  all  there,  and 
not  a  flower  faded,  nor  a  blade  of  grass  sere.  The 
green  leaves  have  not  fallen  from  the  spring  woods 
of  half  a  century  ago,  and  a  gorgeous  autumn  has 
blazed  undimmed  for  fifty  years,  among  the  trees  I 
remember. 

Chestnuts  are  not  especially  sweet  to  my  palate 
now,  but  those  with  which  I  used  to  prick  my 
fingers  when  gathering  them  in  New  Hampshire 
woods  are  exquisite  as  ever  to  my  taste,  when  I 
think  of  eating  them  in  Spain.  I  never  ride  horse 
back  now  at  home  ;  but  in  Spain,  when  I  think  of 
it,  I  bound  over  all  the  fences  in  the  country,  bare 
backed  upon  the  wildest  horses.  Sermons  I  am  apt 
to  find  a  little  soporific  in  this  country ;  but  in  Spain 
I  should  listen  as  reverently  as  ever,  for  proprietors 
must  set  a  good  example  on  their  estates. 

Plays  are  insufferable  to  me  here — Prue  and  I  nevei 


, 

MY    CHATE\A$51§r.r  39 


^ 

go.     Prue.  indeed,  is  not  quite  sure  it  is  moral  ;  but 

the  theatres  in  my  Spanish  castles  are  of  a  pro 
digious  splendor,  and  when  I  think  of  going  there, 
Prue  sits  in  a  front  box  with  me  —  a  kind  of  royal 
box  —  the  good  woman,  attired  in  such  wise  as  I 
have  never  seen  her  here,  while  I  wear  my  white 
waistcoat,  which  in  Spain  has  no  appearance  of 
mending,  but  dazzles  with  immortal  newness,  and 
is  a  miraculous  fit. 

Yes,  and  in  those  castles  in  Spain,  Prue  is  not  the 
placid,  breeches-patching  helpmate,  with  whom 
you  are  acquainted,  but  her  face  has  a  bloom  which 
we  both  remember,  and  her  movement  a  grace 
which  my  Spanish  swans  emulate,  and  her  voice  a 
music  sweeter  than  those  that  orchestras  discourse 
She  is  always  there  what  she  seemed  to  me  when  I 
fell  in  love  with  her,  many  and  many  years  ago. 
The  neighbors  called  her  then  a  nice,  capable  girl  ; 
/  arid  certainly  she  did  knit  and  darn  with  a  zeal  and 
success  to  which  my  feet  and  my  legs  have  testified 
for  nearly  half  a  century  J  But  she  could  spin  a  finer 
web  than  ever  came  from  cotton,  and  in  its  subtle 
meshes  my  heart  was  entangled,  and  there  has 
reposed  softly  and  happily  ever  since.  The  neigh 
bors  declared  she  could  make  pudding  and  cake 
better  than  any  girl  of  her  age  ;  but  stale  bread 
from  Prue's  hand  was  ambrosia  to  my  palate. 


40  P  RUE    AND    I 

She  who  makes  every  thing  well,  even  to  mak 
ing  neighbors  speak  well  of  her,  will  surely  make 
a  good  wife,"  said  I  to  myself  when  I  knew  her , 
arid  the  echo  of  a  half  century  answers,  "  a  good 
wife." 

So,  when  I  meditate  my  Spanish  castles,  I  see 
Prue  in  them  as  my  heart  saw  her  standing  by  her 
father's  door.  "  Age  cannot  wither  her."  There 
is  a  magic  in  the  Spanish  air  that  paralyzes  Time. 
He  glides  by,  unnoticed  and  unnoticing.  I  greatly 
admire  the  Alps,  which  I  see  so  distinctly  from 
my  Spanish  windows ;  I  delight  in  the  taste  of  the 
southern  fruit  that  ripens  upon  my  terraces;  I  en 
joy  the  pensive  shade  of  the  Italian  ruins  in  my 
gardens ;  I  like  to  shoot  crocodiles,  and  talk  with 
the  Sphinx  upon  the  shores  of  the  Nile,  flowing 
through  my  domain ;  I  am  glad  to  drink  sherbet  in 
Damascus,  and  fleece  my  flocks  on  the  plains  of 
Marathon  ;  but  I  would  resign  all  these  for  ever 
rather  than  part  with  that  Spanish  portrait  of  Prue 
for  a  day.  Nay,  have  I  not  resigned  them  all  for 
ever,  to  live  with  that  portrait's  changing  origi 
nal  ? 

I  have  often  wondered  how  I  should  reach  my 
castles.  The  desire  of  going  comes  over  me  very 
strongly  sometimes,  and  I  endeavor  to  see  how  I 
can  arrange  my  affairs,  so  as  to  get  away.  To  tell 


MY    CHATEAUX  41 

the  truth,  I  am  not  quite  sure  of  the  route, — 1 
mean,  to  that  particular  part  of  Spain  in  which 
my  estates  lie.  I  have  inquired  very  particularly, 
but  nobody  seems  to  know  precisely.  One  morn 
ing  I  met  young  Aspen,  trembling  with  excite 
ment. 

*  What's  the  matter?"  asked  I  with  interest,  for 
I  knew  that  he  held  a  great  deal  of  Spanish  stock. 

"  Oh !"  said  he,  "  I'm  going  out  to  take  posses 
sion.  I  have  found  the  way  to  my  castles  in 
Spain." 

"  Dear  me !"  I  answered,  with  the  blood  stream 
ing  into  my  face ;  and,  heedless  of  Prue,  pulling 
my  glove  until  it  ripped — "  what  is  it?" 

"  The  direct  route  is  through  California,"  an 
swered  he. 

"  But  then  you  have  the  sea  to  cross  afterward," 
said  I,  remembering  the  map. 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  Aspen,  "  the  road  runs 
ftlong  the  shore  of  the  Sacramento  River." 

He  darted  away  from  me,  and  I  did  not  meet  him 
again.  I  was  very  curious  to  know  if  he  arrived 
safely  in  Spain,  and  was  expecting  every  day  to 
hear  news  from  him  of  my  property  there,  when, 
one  evening,  I  bought  an  extra,  full  of  California 
news,  and  the  first  thing  upon  which  my  eye  fell 
was  this:  "Died,  in  San  Francisco,  Edward  Aspen, 


rf2  PRCJE    AND    I. 

Esq  ,  aged  35."  There  is  a  large  body  of  the  Span 
ish  stockholders  who  believe  with  Aspen,  and  sail 
for  California  e\ery  week.  I  have  not  yet  heard 
of  their  arrival  out  at  their  castles,  but  I  suppose 
they  are  so  busy  with  their  own  affairs  there,  that 
they  have  no  time  to  write  to  the  rest  of  us  about 
the  condition  of  our  property. 

There  was  my  wife's  cousin,  too,  Jonathan  Bud, 
who  is  a  good,  honest,  youth  from  the  country,  and, 
after  a  few  weeks'  absence,  he  burst  into  the  office 
one  day,  just  as  I  was  balancing  my  books,  and 
whispered  to  me,  eagerly  : 

"  I've  found  my  castle  in  Spain." 

I  put  the  blotting-paper  in  the  leaf  deliberately, 
for  I  was  wiser  now  than  when  Aspen  had  excited 
me,  and  looked  at  my  wife's  cousin,  Jonathan  Bud, 
inquiringly. 

"  Polly  Bacon,"  whispered  he,  winking. 

I  continued  the  interrogative  glance. 

"  She's  going  to  marry  me,  and  she'll  show  me 
the  way  to  Spain,"  said  Jonathan  Bud,  hilariously. 

"  She'll  make  you  walk  Spanish,  Jonathan  Bud," 
said  I. 

And  so  she  does.  He  makes  no  more  hilarious 
remarks.  He  never  bursts  into  a  room.  He  does 
not  ask  us  to  dinner.  He  says  that  Mrs.  Bud  does 
not  like  smoking.  Mrs.  Bud  has  nerves  and  babies. 


MY    CHATEAUX.  43 

She  has  a  way  of  saying  "Mr.  Bud!"  which  de 
stroys  conversation,  and  casts  a  gloom  upon  so 
ciety. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  Bourne,  the  millionaire, 
must  have  ascertained  the  safest  and  most  expedi 
tious  route  to  Spain ;  so  I  stole  a  few  minutes  one 
afternoon,  and  went  into  his  office.  He  was  sitting 
at  his  desk,  writing  rapidly,  and  surrounded  by  files 
of  papers  and  patterns,  specimens,  boxes,  every 
thing  that  covers  the  tables  of  a  great  merchant. 
In  the  outer  rooms  clerks  were  writing.  Upon  high 
shelves  over  their  heads,  were  huge  chests,  covered 
with  dust,  dingy  with  age,  many  of  them,  and  all 
marked  with  the  name  of  the  firm,  in  large  black 
letters — "Bourne  &  Dye."  They  were  all  num 
bered  also  with  the  proper  year;  some  of  them 
with  a  single  capital  B,  and  dates  extending  back 
into  the  last  century,  when  old  Bourne  made  the 
great  fortune,  before  he  went  into  partnership  with 
Dye.  Everything  was  indicative  of  immense  and 
increasing  prosperity. 

There  were  several  gentlemen  in  waiting  to  con 
verse  with  Bourne  (we  all  call  him  so,  familiarly, 
down  town),  and  I  waited  until  they  went  out.  But 
others  came  in.  There  was  no  pause  in  the  rush, 
All  kinds  of  inquiries  were  made  and  answered.  At 
length  I  stepped  up. 


44  PRUE    AND    I 

"  A  moment,  please,  Mr.  Bourne.'1 

He  looked  up  hastily,  wished  me  good  morning, 
which  he  had  done  to  none  of  the  others,  and  which 
courtesy  I  attributed  to  Spanish  sympathy. 

"What  is  it,  sir?"  he  asked,  blandly,  but  with 
wrinkled  brow. 

"  Mr.  Bourne,  have  you  any  castles  in  Spain  ?" 
said  I,  without  preface. 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  few  moments  without 
speaking,  and  without  seeming  to  see  me.  His 
brow  gradually  smoothed,  and  his  ejes,  apparently 
looking  into  the  street,  were  really,  I  have  no  doubt 
feasting  upon  the  Spanish  landscape. 

"  Too  many,  too  many,"  said  he  at  length 
musingly,  shaking  his  head,  and  without  addressing 
me. 

I  suppose  he  felt  himself  too  much  extended — 
as  we  say  in  Wall  Street.  He  feared,  I  thought, 
that  he  had  .too  much  impracticable  property  else 
where,  to  own  so  much  in  Spain  ;  so  I  asked, 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  consider  the  shortest 
and  safest  route  thither,  Mr.  Bourne?  for,  of  course, 
a  man  who  drives  such  an  immense  trade  with  all 
parts  of  the  world,  will  know  all  that  I  have  come 
to  inquire." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  answered  he  wearily,  "  I  have 
been  trying  all  my  life  to  discover  it ;  but  none  of 


MY    CHATEAUX  46 

my  ships  have  ever  been  there — none  of  my  cap 
tains  have  any  report  to  make.  They  bring  me,  as 
they  brought  my  father,  gold  dust  from  Guinea; 
ivory,  pearls,  and  precious  stones,  from  every  part 
of  the  earth ;  but  not  a  fruit,  not  a  solitary  flower, 
from  one  of  my  castles  in  Spain.  I  have  sent  clerks, 
agents,  and  travellers  of  all  kinds,  philosophers, 
pleasure-hunters,  and  invalids,  in  all  sorts  of  ships, 
to  all  sorts  of  places,  but  none  of  them  ever  saw  cr 
heard  of  my  castles,  except  one  young  poet,  and  he 
died  in  a  mad-house." 

"Mr.  Bourne,  will  you  take  five  thousand  at 
ninety -seven?"  hastily  demanded  a  man,  whom,  as 
he  entered,  I  recognized  as  a  broker.  "  We'll  make 
a  splendid  thing  of  it." 

Bourne  nodded  assent,  and  the  broker  disap 
peared. 

"  Happy  man !"  muttered  the  merchant,  as  the 
broker  went  out ;  "  he  has  no  castles  in 
Spain." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  troubled  you,  Mr.  Bourne," 
said  I,  retiring. 

"I  am  glad  you  came,"  returned  he;  "but  I 
assure  you,  had  I  known  the  route  you  hoped  to 
ascertain  from  me.  I  should  have  sailed  years  and 
years  ago.  People  sail  for  the  North-west  Passage, 
which  is  nothing  when  you  have  found  it.  Why 


46  PRUE    AND    I. 

don't  the  English  Admiralty  fit  out  expeditions  to 
discover  all  our  castles  in  Spain?" 

He  sat  lost  in  thought. 

"  It's  nearly  post-time,  sir,"  said  the  clerk. 

Mr.  Bourne  did  not  heed  him.  He  was  still 
musing;  and  I  turned  to  go,  wishing  him  good 
morning.  When  I  had  nearly  reached  the  door, 
he  called  me  back,  saying,  as  if  continuing  his 
remarks — 

"  It  is  strange  that  you,  of  all  men,  should  come 
to  ask  me  this  question.  If  I  envy  any  man,  it  is 
you,  for  I  sincerely  assure  you  that  I  supposed  you 
lived  altogether  upon  your  Spanish  estates.  I  once 
thought  I  knew  the  way  to  mine.  I  gave  direc 
tions  for  furnishing  them,  and  ordered  bridal  bou 
quets,  which  were  never  used,  but  I  suppose  they 
are  there  still." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  said  slowly — "  How 
is  your  wife  ?" 

I  told  him  that  Prue  was  well  —  that  she  was 
always  remarkably  well.  Mr.  Bourne  shook  me 
warmly  by  the  hand. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he.     "  Good  morning." 

I  knew  why  he  thanked  me ;  I  knew  why  he 
thought  that  I  lived  altogether  upon  my  Spanish 
estates;  I  knew  a  little  bit  about  those  bridal  bou 
quets.  Mr.  Bourne  the  millionaire,  was  an  old 


MY    CHATEAUX  47 

lover  of  Prue's.  There  is  something  very  odd  about 
these  Spanish  castles.  When  I  think  of  them,  I 
somehow  see  the  fair-haired  girl  whom  I  knew 
when  I  was  not  out  of  short  jackets.  When  Bourne 
meditates  them,  he  sees  Prue  and  me  quietly  at 
home  in  their  best  chambers.  It  is  a  very  singular 
thing  that  my  wife  should  live  in  another  man's 
castle  in  Spain. 

At  length  I  resolved  to  ask  Titbottom  if  he  had 
ever  heard  of  the  best  route  to  our  estates.  He 
said  that  he  owned  castle's',  and  sometimes  there 
was  an  expression  in  his  face,  as  if  he  saw  them.  1 
nope  he  did.  I  should  long  ago  have  asked  him  if 
ne  had  ever  observed  the  turrets  of  my  possessions 
in  the  West,  without  alluding  to  Spain,  if  I  had  not 
feared  he  would  suppose  I  was  mocking  his  poverty. 
I  hope  his  poverty  has  not  turned  his  head,  for  he  ia 
very  forlorn. 

One  Sunday  I  went  with  him  a  few  miles  into 
the  country.  It  was  a  soft,  bright  day,  the  fields 
and  hills  lay  turned  to  the  sky,  as  if  every  leaf  and 
blade  of  grass  were  nerves,  bared  to  the  touch  of 
the  sun.  I  almost  felt  the  ground  warm  under 
my  feet.  The  meadows  waved  and  glittered,  the 
lights  and  shadows  were  exquisite,  and  the  distant 
hills  seemed  only  to  remove  the  horizon  farther 
nway.  As  we  strolled  along,  picking  wild  flowers, 


48  PKUEANDI 


for  it  "vras  in  summer,  I  was  thinking  what  a  fine 
day  it  was  for  a  trip  to  Spain,  when  Titbottom  sud 
denly  exclaimed  : 

"  Thank  God  !  I  own  this  landscape." 

"  You,"  returned  I. 

"  Certainly,"  said  he. 

"Why,"  I  answered,  "I  thought  this  was  part 
of  Bourne  s  property  ?" 

Titbottom  smiled. 

"  Does  Bourne  own  the  sun  and  sky  ?  Does 
Bourne  own  that  sailing  shadow  yonder?  Does 
Bourne  own  the  golden  lustre  of  the  grain,  or  the 
motion  of  the  wood,  or  those  ghosts  of  hills,  that 
glide  pallid  along  the  horizon?  Bourne  owns  the 
dirt  and  fences;  I  own  the  beauty  that  makes  the 
landscape,  or  otherwise  how  could  I  own  castles  in 
Spain  ?" 

That  was  very  true.  I  respected  Titbottom  more 
than  ever. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  he,  after  a  long  pause, 
"that  I  fancy  my  castles  lie  just  beyond  those  dis 
tant  hills.  At  all  events,  I  can  see  them  distinctly 
from  their  summits." 

He  smiled  quietly  as  he  spoke,  and  it  was  then  I 
ask  ed  : 

"  But,  Titbottom,  have  you  never  discovered  the 
way  to  them?" 


MY    CHATEAUX  49 

"  Dear  me  !  yes,"  answered  he,  "  I  know  the  way 
well  enough  ;  but  it  would  do  no  good  to  follow  it. 
I  should  give  out  before  I  arrived.  It  is  a  long  and 
difficult  journey  for  a  man  of  my  years  and  habits — 
and  income,"  he  added  slowly. 

As  he  spoke  he  seated  himself  upon  the  ground  ; 
and  while  he  pulled  long  blades  of  grass,  and, 
putting  them  between  his  thumbs,  whistled  shrilly, 
he  said : 

"  I  have  never  known  but  two  men  who  reached 
their  estates  in  Spain." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  I,  "  how, did  they  go  ?" 

"  One  went  over  the  side  of  a  ship,  and  the  other 
out  of  a  third  story  window,"  said  Titbottom.  fitting 
a  broad  blade  between  his  thumbs  and  blowing  a 
demoniacal  blast. 

"  And  I  know  one  proprietor  who  resides  upon 
his  estates  constantly,"  continued  he. 

"Who  is  that?" 

"Our  old  friend  Slug,  whom  you  may  see  any 
day  at  the  asylum,  just  coming  in  from  the  hunt,  or 
going  to  call  upon  his  friend  the  Grand  Lama,  or 
dressing  for  the  wedding  of  the  Man  in  the  Moon, 
or  receiving  an  ambassador  from  Timbuctoo.  When 
ever  I  go  to  see  him,  Slug  insists  that  I  am  the 
Pope,  disguised  as  a  journeyman  carpenter,  and  he 
entertains  me  in  the  most  distinguished  manner. 


50  PRUE    AND    I. 

He  always  insists  upon  kissing  my  foot,  and  I  bestow 
upon  him,  kneeling,  the  apostolic  benediction. 
This  is  the  only  Spanish  proprietor  in  possession, 
with  whom  I  am  acquainted." 

And,  so  saying,  Titbottom  lay  back  upon  the 
ground,  and  making  a  spy-glass  of  his  hand,  sur 
veyed  the  landscape  through  it.  This  was  a  mar 
vellous  book-keeper  of  more  than  sixty  ! 

"  I  know  another  man  who  lived  in  his  Spanish 
castle  for  two  months,  and  then  was  tumbled  out- 
head  first.  That  was  young  Stunning  who  married 
old  Buhl's  daughter.  She  was  all  smiles,  and  mam 
ma  was  all  sugar,  and  Stunning  was  all  bliss,  for 
two  months.  He  carried  his  head  in  the  clouds, 
and  felicity  absolutely  foamed  at  his  eyes.  He  was 
drowned  in  love ;  seeing,  as  usual,  not  what  really 
was,  but  what  he  fancied.  He  lived  so  exclusively 
in  his  castle,  that  he  forgot  the  office  down  towr., 
and  one  morning  there  came  a  fall,  and  Stunning 
was  smashed." 

Titbottom  arose,  and  stooping  over,  contem 
plated  the  landscape,  with  his  head  down  between 
his  legs. 

"It's  quite  a  new  effect,  so,"  said  the  nimble 
book-keeper. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  Stunning  failed  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  smashed  all  up,  and  the  castle  in  Spain 


MY    CHATEAUX.  51 

came  down  about  his  ears  with  a  tremendous  crash. 
The  family  sugar  was  all  dissolved  into  the  original 
cane  in  a  moment.  Fairy-times  are  over,  are  they? 
Heigh-ho !  the  falling  stones  of  Stunning's  castle 
have  left  their  marks  all  over  his  face.  I  call  them 
his  Spanish  scars." 

"  But,  my  dear  Titbottom,"  said  I,  "what  is  the 
matter  with  you  this  morning,  your  usual  sedate- 
ness  is  quite  gone?" 

"  It's  only  the  exhilarating  air  of  Spain,"  he  an 
swered.  "  My  castles  are  so  beautiful  that  I  can 
never  think  of  them,  nor  speak  of  them,  without 
excitement ;  when  I  was  younger  I  desired  to  reach 
them  even  more  ardently  than  now,  because  I  heard 
that  the  philosopher's  stone  was  in  the  vault  of  one 
of  them." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  yielding  to  sympathy,  "  and  I 
have  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  fountain  of 
eternal  youth  flows  through  the  garden  of  one  of 
mine.     Do  you  know  whether  there  are  any  chil 
dren  upon  your  grounds?" 

"'The  children  of  Alice  call  Bartrum  father!'" 
replied  Titbottom,  solemnly,  and  in  a  low  voice,  as 
he  folded  his  faded  hands  before  him,  and  stood 
erect,  looking  wistfully  over  the  landscape.  The 
light  wind  played  with  his  thin  white  hair,  and  his 
sober,  black  suit  was  almost  sombre  in  the  sunshine 


52  PRUE    AND    1 

The  half  bitter  expression,  which  I  had  remarked 
upon  his  face  during  part  of  our  conversation,  had 
passed  away,  and  the  old  sadness  had  returned  to 
nis  eye.  He  stood,  in  the  pleasant  morning,  the 
very  image  of  a  great  proprietor  of  castles  in  Spaing 

"  There  is  wonderful  music  there,"  he  said  : 
%*  sometimes  I  awake  at  night,  and  hear  it.  It  is 
full  of  the  sweetness  of  youth,  and  love,  and  a  new 
world.  I  lie  and  listen,  and  I  seem  to  arrive  at  the 
great  gates  of  my  estates.  They  swing  open  upon 
noiseless  hinges,  and  the  tropic  of  my  dreams  re 
ceives  me.  Up  the  broad  steps,  whose  marble 
pavement  mingled  light  and  shadow  print  with 
shifting  mosaic,  beneath  the  boughs  of  lustrous 
oleanders,  and  palms,  and  trees  of  unimaginable 
fragrance,  I  pass  into  the  vestibule,  warm  with 
summer  odors,  and  into  the  presence-chamber 
beyond,  where  my  wife  awaits  me.  But  castle,  and 
wife,  and  odorous  woods,  and  pictures,  and  statues, 
and  all  the  bright  substance  of  my  household,  seem 
to  reel  and  glimmer  in  the  splendor,  as  the  music 
fails. 

"But  when  it  swells  again  I  clasp  the  wife  to 
my  heart,  and  we  move  on  with  a  fair  society, 
beautiful  women,  noble  men,  before  whom  the 
tropical  luxuriance  of  that  world  bends  and  bows 
in  homage ;  and,  through  endless  days  and  night? 


MY    CHATEAUX.  53 

of  eternal  summer,  the  stately  revel  of  our  life  pro 
ceeds.  Then,  suddenly,  the  music  stops.  I  hear 
my  watch  ticking  under  the  pillow.  I  see  dimly 
the  outline  of  my  little  upper  room.  Then  I  fall 
asleep,  and  in  the  morning  some  one  of  the  boarders 
at  the  breakiast-table  says  . 

"  '  Did  you  hear  the  serenade  last  night,  Mr.  Tit- 
bottom.  '  " 

I  doubted  no  longer  that  Titbottom  was  a  very 
extensive  proprietor.  The  truth  is,  that  he  was  so 
constantly  engaged  in  planning  and  arranging  his 
castles,  that  he  conversed  very  little  at  the  office, 
and  I  had  misinterpreted  his  silence.  As  we  walked 
homeward,  that  day,  he  was  more  than  ever  tender 
and  gentle.  "  We  must  all  have  something  to  do  in 
this  world,"  said  he,  "  and  I,  who  have  so  much 
leisure — for  you  know  I  have  no  wife  nor  children 
to  work  for — know  not  what  I  should  do,  if  I  had 
not  my  castles  in  Spain  to  look  after." 

When  I  reached  home,  my  darling  Prue  was  sit 
ting  in  the  small  parlor,  reading.  I  felt  a  little  guilty 
for  having  been  so  long  away,  and  upon  my  only 
holiday,  too.  So  I  began  to  say  that  Titbottom  in 
vited  me  to  go  to  walk,  and  that  I  had  no  idea  we 
had  gone  so  far,  and  that 

"  Don't  excuse  yourself,"  said  Prue,  smiling  as 
she  laid  down  her  book  ;  "  I  am  glad  you  have  en- 


54  PRUE    AND    I 

joyed  yourself.  You  ought  to  go  out  sometimes,  and 
breathe  the  fresh  air,  and  run  about  the  fields,  which 
I  am  not  strong  enough  to  do.  Why  did  you  not 
bring  home  Mr.  Titbottom  to  tea?  He  is  so  lonely, 
and  looks  so  sad.  I  am  sure  he  has  very  little  com 
fort  in  this  life,"  said  my  thoughtful  Prue,  as  she 
called  Jane  to  set  the  tea-table. 

"  But  he  has  a  good  deal  of  comfort  in  Spain, 
Prue,"  answered  I. 

"  When  was  Mr.  Titbottom  in  Spain,"  inquired 
my  wife. 

"  Why,  he  is  there  more  than  half  the  time,"  I 
replied. 

Prue  looked  quietly  at  me  and  smiled.  "  I  see  it 
has  done  you  good  to  breathe  the  country  air,"  said 
she.  "  Jane,  get  some  of  the  blackberry  jam,  and 
call  Adoniram  and  the  children." 

So  we  went  in  to  tea.  We  eat  in  the  back  parlor, 
for  our  little  house  and  limited  means  do  not  allow 
us  to  have  things  upon  the  Spanish  scale.  It  is  bet 
ter  than  a  sermon  to  hear  my  wife  Prue  talk  to  the 
children ;  and  when  she  speaks  to  me  it  seems 
sweeter  than  psalm  singing;  at  least,  such  as  we 
have  in  our  church.  I  am  very  happy. 

Yet  I  dream  my  dreams,  and  attend  to  my  castles 
in  Spain.  I  have  so  much  property  there,  that  I 
could  not,  in  conscience,  neglect  it.  All  the  years 


MY    CHATEAUX  55 

of  my  youth,  and  the  hopes  of  my  manhood,  are 
stored  away,  like  precious  stones,  in  the  vaults  , 
and  I  know  that  I  shall  find  everything  convenient, 
elegant,  and  beautiful,  when  I  come  into  possession. 

As  the  years  go  by,  I  am  not  conscious  that  my 
interest  diminishes.  If  I  see  that  age  is  subtly  sift 
ing  his  snow  in  the  dark  hair  of  my  Prue,  I  smile, 
contented,  for  her  hair,  dark  and  heavy  as  when  I 
first  saw  it,  is  all  carefully  treasured  in  my  castles 
in  Spain.  If  I  feel  her  arm  more  heavily  leaning 
upon  mine,  as  we  walk  around  the  squares,  I  press 
it  closely  to  my  side,  for  I  know  that  the  easy  grace 
of  her  youth's  motion  will  be  restored  by  the  elixir 
of  that  Spanish  air.  If  her  voice  sometimes  falls 
less  clearly  from  her  lips,  it  is  no  less  sweet  to  me, 
for  the  music  of  her  voice's  prime  fills,  freshly  as 
ever,  those  Spanish  halls.  If  the  light  I  love  fades 
a  little  from  her  eyes,  I  know  that  the  glances  she 
gave  me,  in  our  youth,  are  the  eternal  sunshine  of 
my  castles  in  Spain. 

I  defy  time  and  change.  Each  year  laid  upon 
our  heads,  is  a  hand  of  blessing.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  I  shall  find  the  shortest  route  to  my  possessions 
as  soon  as  need  be.  Perhaps,  when  Adoniram  is 
married,  we  shall  all  go  out  to  one  of  my  castles  to 
pass  the  honey-moon. 

Ah !  if  the  true  history  of  Spain  could  be  written 


66  PRUE    AND   I. 

what  u,  book  were  there !  The  most  purely  roman 
tic  ruin  in  the  world  is  the  Alhambra.  But  of  the 
Spanish  castles,  more  spacious  and  splendid  than  any 
possible  Alhambra,  and  for  ever  unruined,  no  towers 
are  visible,  no  pictures  have  been  painted,  and  only 
a  few  ecstatic  songs  have  been  sung.  The  pleasure- 
dome  of  Kubla  Khan,  which  Coleridge  saw  in  Xan 
adu  (a  province  with  which  I  am  not  familiar),  and 
a  fine  Castle  of  Indolence  belonging  to  Thomson, 
and  the  Palace  of  art  which  Tennyson  built  as 
a  "  lordly  pleasure-house  "  for  his  soul,  are  among 
the  best  statistical  accounts  of  those  Spanish  estates. 
Turner,  too,  has  done  for  them  much  the  same  ser 
vice  that  Owen  Jones  has  done  for  the  Alhambra. 
In  the  vignette  to  Moore's  Epicurean  you  will  find 
represented  one  of  the  most  extensive  castles  in 
Spain ;  and  there  are  several  exquisite  studies  from 
othern,  by  the  same  artists,  published  in  Rogers's 
Italy. 

But  I  confess  I  do  not  recognize  any  of  these  as 
mine,  and  that  fact  makes  me  prouder  of  my  own 
castles,  for,  if  there  be  such  boundless  variety  of 
magnificence  in  their  aspect  and  exterior,  imagine 
the  life  that  is  led  there,  a  life  not  unworthy  such 
a  setting. 

If  Adoniram  should  be  married  within  a  reasonable 
time,  and  we  should  make  up  that  little  family  party 


MY    VHA-r'l&tix  SI 

\.  ~         OF 

^s^JFQRNtA^^ 

to  go  out,  I  ha%e  considered  already  what  society  1 

should  ask  to  meet  the  bride.  Jephthah's  daughter 
and  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  I  should  say — and  fair 
Rosamond  with  Dean  Swift — King  Solomon  and  the 
Queen  of  Sheba  would  come  over,  I  think,  from  his 
famous  castle — Shakespeare  and  his  friend  the  Mar 
quis  of  Southampton  might  come  in  a  galley  with 
Cleopatra ;  and,  if  any  guest  were  offended  by  her 
presence,  he  should  devote  himself  to  the  Fair  One 
with  Golden  Locks.  Mephistophiles  is  not  person 
ally  disagreeable,  and  is  exceedingly  well-bred  in 
society,  I  am  told ;  and  he  should  come  tete-d-tete 
with  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley.  Spenser  should  escort 
his  Faerie  Queen,  who  would  preside  at  the  tea- 
table. 

Mr.  Samuel  Weller  I  should  ask  as  Lord  of  Misrule, 
and  Dr.  Johnson  as  the  Abbot  of  Unreason.  I  would 
suggest  to  Major  Dobbin  to  accompany  Mrs.  Fry ; 
Alcibiades  would  bring  Homer  and  Plato  in  his 
purple-sailed  galley  ;  and  I  would  have  Aspasia, 
Ninon  de  1'Enclos,  and  Mrs.  Battle,  to  make  up  a 
table  of  whist  with  Queen  Elizabeth.  I  shall  order 
a  seat  placed  in  the  oratory  for  Lady  Jane  Grey  and 
Joan  of  Arc.  I  shall  invite  General  Washington  to 
bring  some  of  the  choicest  cigars  from  his  plantation 
for  Sir  Walter  Raleigh ;  and  Chaucer,  Browning, 
and  Walter  Savage  Landor,  should  talk  with  Goethe, 


58  PR  UE    AND    1 

who  is  to  bring  Tasso  on  one  arm  and  Iphigenia  on 
the  other. 

Dante  and  Mr.  Carlyle  would  prefer,  I  suppose, 
to  go  down  into  the  dark  vaults  under  the  castle. 
The  Man  in  the  Moon,  the  Old  Harry,  and  William 
of  the  Wisp  would  be  valuable  additions,  and  the 
Laureate  Tennyson  might  compose  an  official  ode 
upon  the  occasion  :  or  I  would  ask  "  They"  to  say 
all  about  it. 

Of  course  there  are  many  other  guests  whose 
names  I  do  not  at  the  moment  recall.  But  I  should 
invite,  first  of  all,  Miles  Coverdale,  who  knows 
every  thing  about  these  places  and  this  society,  for 
he  was  at  Blithedale,  and  he  has  described  "  a  select 
party"  which  he  attended  at  a  castle  in  the  air. 

Prue  has  not  yet  looked  over  the  list.  In  fact  I 
am  not  quite  sure  that  she  knows  my  intention. 
For  I  wish  to  surprise  her,  and  I  think  it  would  be 
generous  to  ask  Bourne  to  lead  her  out  in  the  bridal 
quadrille.  I  think  that  I  shall  try  the  first  waltz 
with  the  girl  I  sometimes  seem  to  see  in  my  fairest 
castle,  but  whom  I  very  vaguely  remember.  Tit- 
bottom  will  come  with  old  Burton  and  Jaques. 
But  I  have  not  prepared  half  my  invitations.  Do 
you  not  guess  it,  seeing  that  I  did  not  name,  first  of 
all,  Elia,  who  assisted  at  the  "Kejoicings  upon  the 
new  year's  coming  of  age"? 


MY    CHATEAUX  59 

And  yet,  if  Adoniram  should  never  marry  ? — or  if 
we  could  not  get  to  Spain  ? — or  if  the  company 
would  not  come  ? 

What  then?  Shall  I  betray  a  secret?  I  have 
Iready  entertained  this  party  in  my  humble  little 
parlor  at  home  ;  arid  Prue  presided  as  serenely  as 
Semiramis  over  her  court.  Have  I  not  said  that  I 
defy  time,  and  shall  space  hope  to  daunt  me  ?  I 
keep  books  by  day,  but  by  night  books  keep  me. 
They  leave  me  to  dreams  and  reveries.  Shall  I  con 
fess,  that  sometimes  when  1  have  been  sitting,  reading 
to  my  Prue,  Cymbeline,  perhaps,  or  a  Canterbury 
tale,  I  have  seemed  to  see  clearly  before  me  the 
broad  highway  to  my  castles  in  Spain ;  and  as  she 
looked  up  from  her  work,  and  smiled  in  sympathy, 
I  have  even  fancied  that  I  wras  already  there. 


SEA  FROM  SHORE. 


"Come  unto  these  yellow  sands." 

The  Tempest. 

"Argosies  of  magic  sails, 
Pilots  of  the  purple  twilight,  dropping  down  with  costly  bales." 

Tennyson* 


SEA  FROM  SHORE, 

"  Come  unto  those  yellow  sands." 

The  Tempest. 

"  Argosies  of  magic  sails, 

Pilots  of  the  purple  twilight,  dropping  down  with  costly  bales." 

Tennyson 

IN  the  month  of  June,  Prue  and  I  like  to  walk 
upon  the  Battery  toward  sunset,  and  watch  the 
steamers,  crowded  with  passengers,  bound  for  the 
pleasant  places  along  the  coast  where  people  pass 
the  hot  months.  Sea-side  lodgings  are  not  very 
comfortable,  I  am  told  ;  but  who  would  not  be  a 
little  pinched  in  his  chamber,  if  his  windows  looked 
upon  the  sea? 

In  such  praises  of  the  ocean  do  I  indulge  at  such 
times,  and  so  respectfully  do  I  regard  the  sailors 
who  may  chance  to  pass,  that  Prue  often  says,  with 
her  shrewd  smiles,  that  my  mind  is  a  kind  of  Green 
wich  Hospital,  full  of  abortive  marine  hopes  and 
wishes,  broken-legged  intentions,  blind  regrets,  and 
desires,  whose  hands,  have  been  shot  away  in  some 
hard  battle  of  experience,  so  that  they  cannot  grasp 
the  results  towards  which  they  rgach 


64  PRUE    AND    I 

She  is  right,  as  usual.  Such  hopes  and  intentions 
do  lie,  ruined  and  hopeless  now,  strewn  about  the 
placid  contentment  of  my  mental  life,  as  the  old 
pensioners  sit  about  the  grounds  at  Greenwich, 
maimed  and  musing  in  the  quiet  morning  sunshine 
Many  a  one  among  them  thinks  what  a  Nelson  he 
would  have  been  if  both  his  legs  had  not  been  pre 
maturely  carried  away ;  or  in  what  a  Trafalgar  of 
triumph  he  would  have  ended,  if,  unfortunately,  he 
had  not  happened  to  have  been  blown  blind  by  the 
explosion  of  that  unlucky  magazine. 

So  I  dream,  sometimes,  of  a  straight  scarlet  col 
lar,  stiff  with  gold  lace,  around  my  neck,  instead  of 
this  limp  white  cravat;  and  I  have  even  brandished 
my  quill  at  the  office  so  cutlass-wise,  that  Titbottom 
has  paused  in  his  additions  and  looked  at  me  as  if  he 
doubted  whether  I  should  come  out  quite  square  in 
my  petty  cash.  Yet  he  understands  it.  Titbottom 
was  born  in  Nantucket. 

That  is  the  secret  of  my  fondness  for  the  sea  ; 
I  was  born  by  it.  Not  more  surely  do  Savoyards 
pine  for  the  mountains,  or  Cockneys  for  the  sound 
of  Bow  bells,  than  those  who  are  born  within  sight 
and  sound  of  the  ocean  to  return  to  it  and  renew 
their  fealty.  In  dreams  the  children  of  the  sea  hear 
its  voice. 

1  have   read  in  some  book  of  travels  that  certain 


SEA    FROM    SHORE.  65 

tribes  of  Arabs  have  no  name  for  the  ocean,  and 
that  when  they  came  to  the  shere  for  the  first  time, 
they  asked  with  eager  sadness,  as  if  penetrated  by 
the  conviction  of  a  superior  beauty,  "  what  is  that 
desert  of  water  more  beautiful  than  the  land  5" 
And  in  the  translations  of  German  stories  which 
Adoniram  and  the  other  children  read,  and  into 
which  I  occasionally  look  in  the  evening  wrhen  they 
are  gone  to  bed — for  I  like  to  know  what  interests 
my  children — I  find  that  the  Germans,  who  do  not 
live  near  the  sea,  love  the  fairy  lore  of  water,  and 
tell  the  sweet  stories  of  Undine  and  Melusiua,  as  if 
they  had  especial  charm  for  them,  because  theii 
country  is  inland. 

We  who  know  the  sea  have  less  fairy  feeling 
about  it,  but  our  realities  are  romance.  My  earliest 
remembrances  are  of  a  long  range  of  old,  half  dila 
pidated  stores ;  red  brick  stores  with  steep  wooden 
roofs,  and  stone  window-frames  and  door-frames, 
which  stood  upon  docks  built  as  if  for  immense  trade 
with  all  quarters  of  the  globe. 

Generally  there  were  only  a  few  sloops  moored  to 
the  tremendous  posts,  which  I  fancied  could  easily 
hold  fast  a  Spanish  Armada  in  a  tropical  hurricane. 
But  sometimes  a  great  ship,  an  East  Indiaman,  with 
rusty,  seamed,  blistered  sides,  and  dingy  sails,  came 
slowly  moving  up  the  harbor,  with  an  air  of  indo- 


GG  PRUE   AND   I. 

lent  self-impoance  ind  consciousness  of  superiority 
which  inspired  me  with  profound  respect.  If  the 
ship  had  ever  chanced  to  run  down  a  row-boat,  or  a 
sloop,  or  any  specimen  of  smaller  craft,  I  should 
only  have  wondered  at  the  temerity  of  any  floating 
thing  in  crossing  the  path  of  such  supreme  majesty. 
The  ship  was  leisurely  chained  and  cabled  to  the 
old  dock,  and  then  came  the  disembowelling. 

How  the  stately  monster  had  been  fattening  upon 
foreign  spoils  !  How  it  had  gorged  itself  (such  gal 
leons  did  never  seem  to  me  of  the  feminine  gender) 
with  the  luscious  treasures  of  the  tropics  !  It  had 
lain  its  lazy  length  along  the  shores  of  China,  and 
sucked  in  whole  flowery  harvests  of  tea.  The  Bra 
zilian  sun  flashed  through  the  strong  wicker  prisons, 
bursting  with  bananas  and  nectarean  fruits  that 
eschew  the  temperate  zone.  Steams  of  camphor, 
of  sandal  wood,  arose  from  the  hold.  Sailors  chant 
ing  cabalistic  strains,  that  had  to  my  ear  a  shrill 
and  monotonous  pathos,  like  the  uniform  rising  and 
falling  of  an  autumn  wind,  turned  cranks  that 
lifted  the  bales,  and  boxes,  and  crates,  and  swung 
them  ashore. 

But  to  my  mind,  the  spell  of  their  singing  raised 
the  fragrant  freight,  and  not  the  crank.  Madagascar 
and  Ceylon  appeared  at  the  mystic  bidding  of  the 
song.  The  placid  sunshine  of  the  docks  was  per- 


SEA    FROM    SHORE  67 

fumed  with  India.  The  universal  calm  of  southern 
seas  poured  from  the  bosom  of  the  ship  over  the 
quiet,  decaying  old  northern  port. 

Long  after  the  confusion  of  unloading  was  over 
and  the  ship  lay  as  if  all  voyages  were  ended,  I 
dared  to  creep  timorously  along  the  edge  of  the 
dock,  and  at  great  risk  of  falling  in  the  black  water 
of  its  huge  shadow,  I  placed  my  hand  upon  the 
hot  hulk,  and  so  established  a  mystic  and  exquisite 
connection  with  Pacific  islands,  with  palm  groves 
and  all  the  passionate  beauties  they  embower ;  with 
jungles,  Bengal  tigers,  pepper,  and  the  crushed  feet 
of  Chinese  fairies.  I  touched  Asia,  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  and  the  Happy  Islands.  I  would  not 
believe  that  the  heat  I  felt  was  of  our  northern  sun  ; 
to  my  finer  sympathy  it  burned  with  equatorial 
fervors. 

The  freight  was  piled  in  the  old  stores.  I  believe 
that  many  of  them  remain,  but  they  have  lost  thek 
character.  When  I  knew  them,  not  only  was  I 
younger,  but  partial  decay  had  overtaken  the  town  ; 
at  least  the  bulk  of  its  India  trade  had  shifted  to 
New  York  and  Boston.  But  the  appliances  re 
mained.  There  was  no  throng  of  busy  traffickers, 
and  after  school,  in  the  afternoon,  I  strolled  by  and 
gazed  into  the  solemn  interiors. 

Silence   reigned    within, — silence,   dimness,    and 


»*S  PRUE    AND    I. 

piles  of  foreign  treasure.  Vast  coils  of  cable,  like 
tame  boa-constrictors,  served  as  seats  for  men  with 
large  stomachs,  and  heavy  watch-seals,  and  nankeen 
browsers,  who  sat  looking  out  of  the  door  toward 
the  ships,  with  little  other  sign  of  life  than  an  oc 
casional  low  talking,  as  if  in  their  sleep.  Huge 
hogsheads  perspiring  brown  sugar  and  oozing  slow 
molasses,  as  if  nothing  tropical  could  keep  within 
bounds,  but  must  continually  expand,  and  exude,  and 
overflow,  stood  against  the  walls,  and  had  an  architec 
tural  significance,  for  they  darkly  reminded  me  of 
Egyptian  prints,  and  in  the  duskiness  of  the  low 
vaulted  store  seemed  cyclopean  columns  incomplete. 
Strange  festoons  and  heaps-  of  bags,  square  piles  of 
square  boxes  cased  in  mats,  bales  of  airy  summer 
stuffs,  which,  even  in  winter,  scoffed  at  cold,  and 
shamed  it  by  audacious  assumption  of  eternal  sun, 
little  specimen  boxes  of  precious  dyes  that  even  now 
shine  through  my  memory,  like  old  Venetian  schools 
unpainted, — these  were  all  there  in  rich  confusion. 

The  stores  had  a  twilight  of  dimness,  the  air  was 
spicy  with  mingled  odors.  I  liked  to  look  suddenly 
in  from  the  glare  of  sunlight  outside,  and  then  the 
cool  sweet  dimness  was  like  the  palpable  breath  of 
the  far  off  island-groves ;  and  if  only  some  parrot  or 
macaw  hung  within,  would  flaunt  with  glistening 
plumage  in  his  cage,  and  as  the  gay  hue  flashed  in 


SEA    PROM    SHORE.  69 

a  chance  sunbeam,  call  in  his  hard,  shrill  voice,  as  if 
thrusting  sharp  sounds  upon  a  glistening  wire  from 
out  that  grateful  gloom,  then  the  enchantment  was 
complete,  and  without  moving,  I  was  circumnavi 
gating  the  globe. 

From  the  old  stores  and  the  docks  slowly 
crumbling,  touched,  I  know  not  why  or  how 
by  the  pensive  air  of  past  prosperity,  I  ram 
bled  out  of  town  on  those  well  remembered 
afternoons,  to  the  fields  that  lay  upon  hillsides  over 
the  harbor,  and  there  sat,  looking  out  to  sea,  fancy 
ing  some  distant  sail  proceeding  to  the  glorious  ends 
of  the  earth,  to  be  my  type  and  image,  who  would 
so  sail,  stately  and  successful,  to  all  the  glorious  ports 
of  the  Future.  Going  home,  I  returned  by  the 
stores,  which  black  porters  were  closing.  But  I 
stood  long  looking  in,  saturating  my  imagination, 
and  as  it  appeared,  my  clothes,  with  the  spicy  sug 
gestion.  For  when  I  reached  home  my  thrifty  mo 
ther — another  Prue — came  snuffing  and  smelling 
about  me. 

"Why!  my  son,  (snuff,  snuff,)  where  have  you 
been  ?  (snuff,  snuff.)  Has  the  baker  been  making 
(snuff)  ginger-bread?  You  smell  as  if  you'd  been 
in  (snuff,  snuff,)  a  bag  of  cinnamon." 

"I've  only  been  on  the  wharves,  mother." 

"Well,  my  dear,  I  hope  you  haven't  stuck  tip 


70  PEUEANDl. 

your  clothes  with  molasses.  Wharves  are  dirty 
places,  and  dangerous.  You  must  take  care  of 
yourself,  my  son.  Really  this  smell  is  (snuff,  snuff, ) 
very  strong." 

But  I  departed  from  the  maternal  presence,  proud 
and  happy.  I  was  aromatic.  I  bore  about  me  the 
true  foreign  air.  Whoever  smelt  me  smelt  distant 
countries.  I  had  nutmeg,  spices,  cinnamon,  and 
cloves,  without  the  jolly  red-nose.  I  pleased  my 
self  with  being  the  representative  of  the  Indies.  I 
was  in  good  odor  with  myself  and  all  the  world. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  surely  Nature  makes 
kindly  provision.  An  imagination  so  easily  excited 
as  mine  could  not  have  escaped  disappointment  if  it 
had  had  ample  opportunity  and  experience  of  the 
lands  it  so  longed  to  see.  Therefore,  although  I 
made  the  India  voyage,  I  have  never  oeen  a 
traveller,  and  saving  the  little  time  I  was  ashore 
in  India,  I  did  not  lose  the  sense  of  novelty  and 
romance,  which  the  first  sight  of  foreign  lands  in 
spires. 

That  little  time  was  all  my  foreign  travel.  I  am 
glatf  of  it.  I  see  now  that  I  should  never  have 
found  the  country  from  which  the  East  Indiaman 
of  my  early  days  arrived.  The  palm  groves  do  not 
grow  with  which  that  hand  laid  upon  the  ship 
placed  me  in  magic  conception.  As  for  the  lovely 


SEA    FROM    SHORE.  71 

Indian  maid  whom  the  palmy  arches  bowered,  she 
has  long  since  clasped  some  native  lover  to  her 
bosom,  and,  ripened  into  mild  maternity,  how  should 
I  know  her  now? 

"  You  would  find  her  quite  as  easily  now  as 
then,''  says  my  Prue,  when  I  speak  of  it. 

She  is  right  again,  as  usual,  that  precious  woman; 
and  it  is  therefore  I  feel  that  if  the  chances  of  life 
have  moored  me  fast  to  a  book-keeper's  desk,  they 
have  left  all  the  lands  I  longed  to  see  fairer  and 
fresher  in  my  mind  than  they  could  ever  be  in  my 
memory  Upon  my  only  voyage  I  used  to  climb 
into  the  top  and  search  the  horizon  for  the  shore. 
But  now  in  a  moment  of  calm  thought  I  see  a  more 
Indian  India  than  ever  mariner  discerned,  and  do 
not  envy  the  youths  who  go  there  and  make  for 
tunes,  who  wear  grass-cloth  jackets,  drink  iced 
beer,  and  eat  curry ;  whose  minds  fall  asleep,  and 
whose  bodies  have  liver  complaints. 

Unseen  by  me  for  ever,  nor  ever  regretted,  shall 
wave  the  Egyptian  palms  and  the  Italian  pines. 
Untrodden  by  me,  the  Forum  shall  still  echo  with 
the  footfall  of  imperial  Rome,  and  the  Parthenon 
unrifled  of  its  marbles,  look,  perfect,  across  the 
Egean  blue. 

My  young  friends  return  from  their  foreign  tours 
elate  with  the  smiles  of  a  nameless  Italian  or 


72  PRUE    AND    I. 

Parisian  belle.  I  know  not  such  cheap  delights;  I 
am  a  suitor  of  Vittoria  Colonna;  I  walk  with  Tasso 
along  the  terraced  garden  of  the  Villa  d'Este,  and 
look  to  see  Beatrice  smiling  down  the  rich  gloom 
of  the  cypress  shade.  You  staid  at  the  Hotel 
Europa  in  Venice,  at  Darnclli's,  or  the  Leone  bianco; 
I  am  the  guest  of  Marino  Faliero,  arid  I  whisper  fco 
his  wife  as  we  climb  the  giant  staircase  in  the 
summer  moonlight, 

"  Ah !  senza  amare 
Andare  sul  mare, 
Col  sposo  del  marc, 
Noa  puo  consolare." 

It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  I  did  not  care  to 
dine  with  you  and  Aurelia,  that  I  am  content  not 
to  stand  in  St.  Peter's.  Alas !  if  I  could  see  the 
end  of  it,  it  would  not  be  St.  Peter's.  For  those 
of  us  whom  Nature  means  to  keep  at  home,  she 
provides  entertainment.  One  man  goes  four  thou 
sand  miles  to  Italy,  and  does  not  see  it,  he  is  so 
short-sighted.  Another  is  so  far-sighted  that  he 
stays  in  his  room  and  sees  more  than  Italy. 

But  for  this  very  reason  that  it  washes  the  shores 
of  my  possible  Europe  and  Asia,  the  sea  draws  me 
constantly  to  itself.  Before  I  came  to  New  York, 
while  I  was  still  a  clerk  in  Boston,  courting  Prue, 
aid  living  out  of  town,  I  never  knew  of  a  ship 


SEA    FROM    SHORE  73 

sailing  for  India  or  even  for  England  and  France, 
but  I  went  up  to  the  State  House  cupola  or  to  the 
observatory  on  some  friend's  house  in  Roxbury, 
where  I  could  not  be  interrupted,  and  there  watched 
the  departure. 

The  sails  hung  ready;  the  ship  lay  in  the  stream; 
busy  little  boats  and  puffing  steamers  darted  about 
it,  clung  to  its  sides,  paddled  away  from  it,  or  led 
the  way  to  sea,  as  minnows  might  pilot  a  whale. 
The  anchor  was  slowly  swung  at  the  bow :  I  could 
not  hear  the  sailors'  song,  but  I  knew  they  were 
singing.  I  could  not  see  the  parting  friends,  but  I 
knew  farewells  were  spoken.  I  did  not  share  the 
confusion,  although  I  knew  what  bustle  there  was, 
what  hurry,  what  shouting,  what  creaking,  what 
fall  of  ropes  and  iron,  what  sharp  oaths,  low 
laughs,  whispers,  sobs.  But  I  was  cool,  high, 
separate.  To  me  it  was 

"A  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean.'' 

The  sails  were  shaken  out,  and  the  ship  began 
to  move.  It  was  a  fair  breeze,  perhaps,  and  no 
steamer  was  needed  to  tow  her  away.  She  receded 
down  the  bay.  Friends  turned  back — I  could  not 
see  them — and  waved  their  hands,  and  wiped  their 

eyes,  %nd  went  home  to  dinner.     Farther  and  far- 
4 


74  PfiUE    AND    I. 

ther  from  the  ships  at  anchor,  the  lessening  vessel 
became  single  and  solitary  upon  the  water.  The 
sun  sank  in  the  west ;  but  I  watched  her  still 
Every  flash  of  her  sails,  as  she  tacked  and  turned, 
thrilled  my  heart. 

Yet  Prue  was  not  on  board.  I  had  never  seen 
one  of  the  passengers  or  the  crew.  I  did  not  know 
the  consignees,  nor  the  name  of  the  vessel.  I  had 
shipped  no  adventure,  nor  risked  any  insurance, 
nor  made  any  bet,  but  my  eyes  clung  to  her  as 
Ariadne's  to  the  fading  sail  of  Theseus.  The  ship 
was  freighted  with  more  than  appeared  upon  her 
papers,  yet  she  was  not  a  smuggler.  She  bore  all 
there  was  of  that  nameless  lading,  yet  the  next  ship 
would  carry  as  much.  She  was  freighted  with 
fancy.  My  hopes,  and  wishes,  and  vague  desires, 
were  all  on  board.  It  seemed  to  me  a  treasure  not 
less  rich  than  that  which  filled  the  East  Indiaman 
ut  the  old  dock  in  my  boyhood. 

When,  at  length,  the  ship  was  a  sparkle  upon 
the  horizon,  I  waved  my  hand  in  last  farewell,  I 
strained  my  eyes  for  a  last  glimpse.  My  mind  had 
gone  to  sea,  and  had  left  noise  behind.  But  now  ] 
heard  again  the  multitudinous  murmur  of  the  city 
and  went  down  rapidly,  and  threaded  the  short, 
v arrow,  streets  to  the  office.  Yet,  believe  it,  every 
dream  of  that  day,  as  I  watched  the  vessel,  was 


SEA    FROM    SHORE.  75 

written  at  night  to  Prue.  She  knew  my  heart  had 
not  sailed  away. 

Those  days  are  long  past  now,  but  still  I  walk 
upon  the  Battery  and  look  towards  the  Narrows, 
and  know  that  beyond  them,  separated  only  by  the 
sea.  are  many  of  whom  I  would  so  gladly  know, 
and  so  rarely  hear.  The  sea  rolls  between  us  like 
the  lapse  of  dusky  ages.  They  trusted  themselves 
to  it,  and  it  bore  them  away  far  and  far  as  if  into 
the  past.  Last  night  I  read  of  Antony,  but  I  have 
not  heard  from  Christopher  these  many  months, 
and  by  so  much  farther  away  is  he,  so  much  older 
and  more  remote,  than  Antony.  As  for  William,  he 
is  as  vague  as  any  of  the  shepherd  kings  of  ante- 
Pharaonic  dynasties. 

It  is  the  sea  that  has  done  it,  it  has  carried  them 
off  and  put  them  away  upon  its  other  side.  It  is 
fortunate  the  sea  did  not  put  them  upon  its  under 
side.  Are  they  hale  and  happy  still?  Is  their 
hair  gray,  and  have  they  mustachios  ?  Or  have 
they  taken  to  wigs  and  crutches  ?  Are  they  popes 
or  cardinals  yet  ?  Do  they  feast  with  Lucrezia 
Borgia,  or  preach  red  republicanism  to  the  Council 
of  Ten  ?  Do  they  sing,  Behold  how  brightly  break* 
the  morning  with  Masaniello?  Do  they  laugh  ay. 
Ulysses  and  skip  ashore  to  the  Syrens  ?  Has  Mes- 
rour.  chief  of  the  Eunuchs,  caught  them  with 


76  PRUE    AND    1 

Zobeioe  in  the  Caliph's  garden,  or  have  they  made 
cheese  cakes  without  pepper  ?  Friends  of  my 
yoath,  where  in  your  wanderings  have  you  tasted 
the  blissful  Lotus,  that  you  neither  come  nor  send 
us  tidings  ? 

Across  the  sea  also  came  idle  rumors,  as  false 
reports  steal  into  history  and  defile  fair  fames. 
Was  it  longer  ago  than  yesterday  that  I  walked 
with  my  cousin,  then  recently  a  widow,  and  talked 
with  her  of  the  countries  to  which  she  meant  to 
sail  ?  She  was  young,  and  dark-eyed,  and  wore 
great  hoops  of  gold,  barbaric  gold,  in  her  ears. 
The  hope  of  Italy,  the  thought  of  living  there,  had 
risen  like  a  dawn  in  the  darkness  of  her  mind.  I 
talked  and  listened  by  rapid  turns. 

Was  it  longer  ago  than  yesterday  that  she  told  me 
of  her  splendid  plans,  how  palaces  tapestried  with 
gorgeous  paintings  should  be  cheaply  hired,  and  the 
best  of  teachers  lead  her  children  to  the  completest 
and  most  various  knowledge  ;  how> — and  with  her 
slender  pittance ! — she  should  have  a  box  at  the 
opera,  and  a  carriage,  and  liveried  servants,  and  in 
perfect  health  and  youth,  lead  a  perfect  life  in  a 
perfect  climate? 

And  now  what  do  I  hear?  Why  does  a  tear 
sometimes  drop  so  audibly  upon  my  paper,  that 
Titbottom  looks  across  with  a  sort  of  mild  rebuking 


SE^V.    FROM    SHORE.  77 

glance  of  inquiry,  whether  it  is  kind  to  let  even  a 
single  tear  fall,  when  an  ocean  of  tears  is  pent  up 
in  hearts  that  would  burst  and  overflow  if  but  one 
drop  should  force  its  way  out?  Why  across  the  seq 
came  faint  gusty  stories,  like  low  voices  in  the 
wind,  of  a  cloistered  garden  and  sunny  seclusion — 
and  a  life  of  unknown  and  unexplained  luxury. 
What  is  this  picture  of  a  pale  face  showered  with 
streaming  black  hair,  and  large  sad  eyes  looking 
upon  lovely  and  noble  children  playing  in  the  sun 
shine — and  a  brow  pained  with  thought  straining 
into  their  destiny  ?  Who  is  this  figure,  a  man  tall 
and  comely,  with  melting  eyes  and  graceful  motion, 
who  comes  and  goes  at  pleasure,  who  is  not 
a  husband,  yet  has  the  key  of  the  cloistered 
garden  ? 

I  do  not  know.  They  are  secrets  of  the  sea.  The 
pictures  pass  before  my  mind  suddenly  and  un 
awares,  and  I  feel  the  tears  rising  that  I  would 
gladly  repress.  Titbottom  looks  at  me,  then  stands 
by  the  window  of  the  office  and  leans  his  brow 
against  the  cold  iron  bars,  and  looks  down  into  the 
little  square  paved  court.  I  take  my  hat  and  steal 
out  of  the  office  for  a  few  minutes,  and  slowly  pace 
the  hurrying  streets.  Meek-eyed  Alice !  magnifi 
cent  Maud!  sweet  baby  Lilian!  why  does  the 
*ea  imprison  you  so  far  away,  when  will  you 


78  PUUEANDl 

return,  where  do  you  linger?  The  water  laps 
idly  about  docks, — lies  calm,  or  gaily  heaves. 
Why  does  it  bring  me  doubts  and  fears  now,  that 
brought  such  bounty  of  beauty  in  the  days  long 
gone  ? 

I  remember  that  the  day  when  my  dark  haired 
cousin,  with  hoops  of  barbaric  gold  in  her  ears, 
sailed  for  Italy,  was  quarter-day,  and  we  balanced 
the  books  at  the  office.  It  was  nearly  noon,  and  in 
my  impatience  to  be  away,  I  had  not  added  my 
columns  with  sufficient  care.  The  inexorable  hand 
of  the  office  clock  pointed  sternly  towards  twelve, 
and  the  remorseless  pendulum  ticked  solemnly  to 
noon. 

To  a  man  whose  pleasures  are  not  many,  and 
rather  small,  the  loss  of  such  an  event  as  saying 
farewell  and  wishing  God-speed  to  a  friend  going 
to  Europe,  is  a  great  loss.  It  was  so  to  me,  espe 
cially,  because  there  was  always  more  to  me,  in 
every  departure,  than  the  parting  and  the  farewell. 
I  was  gradually  renouncing  this  pleasure,  as  I  saw 
small  prospect  of  ending  before  noon,  when  Tit 
bottom,  after  looking  at  me  a  moment,  came  to  m} 
side  of  the  desk,  and  said : 

"  I  should  like  to  finish  that  for  you." 

I  looked  at  him:  poor  Titbottom !  he  had  no 
friends  to  wish  God-speed  upon  any  journey.  1 


X.         /s        Of 

SEA    FROM-   SHORE  79 

quietly  wiped  my  pen,  took  down  my  hat,  and  went 
out.  It  was  in  the  days  of  sail  packets  and  less 
regularity,  when  going  to  Europe  was  more  of  an 
epoch  in  life.  How  gaily  my  cousin  stood  upon 
the  deck  and  detailed  to  me  her  plan!  How  mer 
rily  the  children  shouted  and  sang !  How  long  I 
held  my  cousin's  little  hand  in  mine,  and  gazed  into 
her  great  eyes,  remembering  that  they  would  see 
and  touch  the  things  that  were  invisible  to  me  for 
ever,  but  all  the  more  precious  and  fair !  She 
kissed  me — I  was  younger  then — there  were  tears,  I 
remember,  and  prayers,  and  promises,  a  waving 
handkerchief, — a  fading  sail. 

It  was  only  the  other  day  that  I  saw  another 
parting  of  the  same  kind.  I  was  not  a  principal, 
only  a  spectator ;  but  so  fond  am  I  of  sharing,  afar 
off,  as  it  were,  and  unseen,  the  sympathies  of  human 
beings,  that  I  cannot  avoid  often  going  to  the  dock 
upon  steamer-days  and  giving  myself  to  that 
pleasant  and  melancholy  observation.  There  is 
always  a  crowd,  but  this  day  it  was  almost  im 
possible  to  advance  through  the  masses  of  people. 
The  eager  faces  hurried  by ;  a  constant  stream 
poured  up  the  gangway  into  the  steamer,  and  the 
upper  deck,  to  which  I  gradually  made  my  way, 
was  crowded  with  the  passengers  and  their  friends. 

There  was  one  group  upon  which  my  eyes  first 


SO  PRUE    AND    1 

tell,  and  upon  which  my  memory  lingers.    A  glance 
brilliant  as  daybreak — a  voice, 

t;  Her    voice's    music, — call    it    the    well's    bubbling,    the    bird's 
warble," 

goddess  girdled  with  flowers,  and  smiling  farewell 
pon  a  circle  of  worshippers,  to  each  one  of  whom 
that  gracious  calmness  made  the  smile  sweeter,  and 
the  farewell  more  sad — other  figures,  other  flowers, 
an  angel  face — all  these  I  saw  in  that  group  as  I 
was  swayed  up  and  down  the  deck  by  the  eager 
swarm  of  people.  The  hour  came,  and  I  went  on 
shore  with  the  rest.  The  plank  was  drawn  away 
— the  captain  raised  his  hand — the  huge  steamer 
slowly  moved — a  cannon  was  fired — the  ship  was 
gone. 

The  sun  sparkled  upon  the  water  as  they  sailed 
away.  In  five  minutes  the  steamer  was  as  much 
separated  from  the  shore  as  if  it  had  been  at  sea  a 
thousand  years. 

I  leaned  against  a  post  upon  the  dock  and  looked 
around.  Ranged  upon  the  edge  of  the  wharf  stood 
that  band  of  worshippers,  waving  handkerchiefs 
and  straining  their  eyes  to  see  the  last  smile  of  fare 
well — did  any  eager  selfish  eye  hope  to  see  a  tear  ? 
They  to  whom  the  handkerchiefs  were  waved  stood 
high  upon  the  stern,  holding  flowers.  Over  them 
hung  the  great  flag,  raised  by  the  gentle  wind  into 


SEA    FROM    SHORE.  8] 

the  graceful  folds  of  a  canopy, — say  rather  a  gor 
geous  gonfalon  waved  over  the  triumphant  depart 
ure,  over  that  supreme  youth,  and  bloom,  and 
beauty,  going  out  across  the  mystic  ocean  to  carry 
a  finer  charm  and  more  human  splendor  into  those 
realms  of  my  imagination  beyond  the  sea. 

"You  will  return,  0  youth  and  beauty!"  I  said 
to  my  dreaming  and  foolish  self,  as  I  contemplated 
those  fair  figures,  "  richer  than  Alexander  with 
Indian  spoils.  All  that  historic  association,  that 
copious  civilization,  those  grandeurs  and  graces  of 
art,  that  variety  and  picturesqueness  of  life,  will 
mellow  and  deepen  your  experience  even  as  time 
silently  touches  those  old  pictures  into  a  more  per 
suasive  and  pathetic  beauty,  and  as  this  increasing 
summer  sheds  ever  softer  lustre  upon  the  landscape- 
You  will  return  conquerors  and  not  conquered. 
You  will  bring  Europe,  even  as  Aurelian  brought 
Zenobia  captive,  to  deck  your  homeward  triumph. 
I  do  not  wonder  that  these  clouds  break  away,  I  do 
not  wonder  that  the  sun  presses  out  and  floods  all 
the  air,  and  land,  and  water,  with  light  that  graces 
with  happy  omens  your  stately  farewell." 

But    if   my  faded  face  looked  after  them  with 
such   earnest  and  longing    emotion, — I,  a  solitary 
old  man,  unknown  to  those  fair  beings,  and  stand 
ing  apart  from  that  band  of  lovers,  yet  in  that  mo 
4* 


8k<2  PKUEANDl 

ment  bound  more  closely  to  them  than  they  knew, 
— how  was  it  with  those  whose  hearts  sailed  away 
with  that  youth  and  beauty  ?  I  watched  them 
closely  from  behind  my  post.  I  knew  that  life  had 
paused  with  them ;  that  the  world  stood  still.  I 
knew  that  the  long,  long  summer  would  be  only  a 
yearning  regret.  I  knew  that  each  asked  himself 
the  mournful  question,  "Is  this  parting  typical — 
this  slow,  sad,  sweet  recession  ?"  And  1  knew 
that  they  did  not  care  to  ask  whether  they  should 
meet  again,  nor  dare  to  contemplate  the  chances  of 
the  sea. 

The  steamer  swept  on,  she  was  near  Staten 
Island,  and  a  final  gun  boomed  far  and  low  across 
the  water.  The  crowrd  was  dispersing,  but  the 
little  group  remained.  Was  it  not  all  Hood  had 
sung  ? 

"  I  saw  thee,  lovely  Inez, 

Descend  along  the  shore 

With  bands  of  noble  gentlemen, 

And  banners  waved  before  ; 

And  gentle  youths  and  maidens  gay, 

And  snowy  plumes  they  wore  ; — 

It  would  have  been  a  beauteous  dream, 

If  it  had  been  no  more  !" 

O  youth  !"  I  said  to  them  without  speaking, 
rsbe  it  gently  said,  as  it  is  solemnly  thought, 
should  they  return  no  more,  yet  in  your  memories 
the  high  hour  of  their  loveliness  is  for  ever  en- 


SEA    FROM    SHORE.  83 

shrined.  Should  they  come  no  more  they  never 
will  be  old,  nor  changed,  to  you.  You  will  wax 
And  wane,  you  will  suffer,  and  struggle,  and  grow 
old  ;  but  this  summer  vision  will  smile,  immorta., 
apon  your  lives,  and  those  fair  faces  shall  shed,  for 
ever,  from  under  that  slowly  waving  flag,  hope  and 
peace." 

It  is  so  elsewhere ;  it  is  the  tenderness  of  Na 
ture.  Long,  long  ago  we  lost  our  first-born,  Prue 
and  I.  Since  then,  we  have  grown  older  and  our 
children  with  us.  Change  comes,  and  grief,  per 
haps,  and  decay.  We  are  happy,  our  children  are  obe 
dient  and  gay.  But  should  Prue  live  until  she  lias 
lost  us  all,  and  laid  us,  gray  and  weary,  in  our 
graves,  she  will  have  always  one  babe  in  her  heart. 
Every  mother  who  has  lost  an  infant,  has  gained  a 
child  of  immortal  youth.  Can  you  find  comfort  here, 
lovers,  whose  mistress  has  sailed  away  ? 

I  did  not  ask  the  question  aloud,  I  thought  it  only, 
as  I  watched  the  youths,  and  turned  away  while 
they  still  stood  gazing.  One,  I  observed,  climbed  a 
post  and  waved  his  black  hat  before  the  white 
washed  side  of  the  shed  over  the  dock,  whence  I 
supposed  he  would  tumble  into  the  water.  Another 
had  tied  a  handkerchief  to  the  end  of  a  somewhat 
baggy  umbrella,  and  in  the  eagerness  of  gazing,  had 
forgotten  to  wave  it,  so  that  it  hung  mournfully 


84  PRUEANDI. 

down  as  if  overpowered  with  grief  it  could  not  ex 
press  The  entranced  youth  still  held  the  umbrella 
aloft.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  had  struck  his  flag  : 
or  as  if  one  of  my  cravats  were  airing  in  that  sun 
light.  A  negro  carter  was  joking  with  an  apple- 
woman  at  the  entrance  of  the  dock.  The  steamer 
was  out  of  sight. 

I  found  that  I  was  belated  and  hurried  back  to  my 
desk.  Alas !  poor  lovers  ;  I  wonder  if  they  are 
watching  still  ?  Has  he  fallen  exhausted  from  the 
post  into  the  water  ?  Is  that  handkerchief,  bleached 
and  rent,  still  pendant  upon  that  somewhat  baggy 
umbrella? 

"  Youth  and  beauty  went  to  Europe  to-day,"  said 
I  to  Prue,  as  I  stirred  my  tea  at  evening. 

As  I  spoke,  our  youngest  daughter  brought  me 
the  sugar.  She  is  just  eighteen,  and  her  name 
should  be  Hebe.  I  took  a  lump  of  sugar  and  looked 
at  her.  She  had  never  seemed  so  lovely,  and  as  I 
dropped  the  lump  in  my  cup,  I  kissed  her.  I  glanced 
at  Prue  as  I  did  so.  The  dear  woman  smiled,  but 
did  not  answer  my  exclamation. 

Thus,  without  travelling,  I  travel,  and  share  the 
emotions  of  those  I  do  not  know.  But  sometimes 
the  old  longing  comes  over  me  as  in  the  days  when 
I  timidly  touched  the  huge  East  Indiaman,  and 
magnetically  sailed  around  the  world. 


SEA    FROM    SHORE.  SO 

It  was  but  a  few  days  after  the  lovers  and  I  waved 
farewell  to  the  steamer,  and  while  the  lovely  figures 
standing  under  the  great  gonfalon  were  as  vivid  in 
my  mind  as  ever,  that  a  day  of  premature  sunny  sad 
ness,  like  those  of  the  Indian  summer,  drew  me 
away  from  the  office  early  in  the  afternoon  :  for  for 
tunately  it  is  our  dull  season  now,  and  even  Titbot- 
tom  sometimes  leaves  the  office  by  five  o'clock.  Al 
though  why  he  should  leave  it,  or  where  he  goes,  or 
what  he  does,  I  do  not  well  know.  Before  I  knew 
him,  I  used  sometimes  to  meet  him  with  a  man 
whom  I  was  afterwards  told  was  Bartleby,  the  scri 
vener.  Even  then  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  rather 
clubbed  their  loneliness  than  made  society  for  each 
other.  Recently  I  have  not  seen  Bartleby  ;  but  Tit- 
bottom  seems  no  more  solitary  because  he  is  alone. 

I  strolled  into  the  Battery  as  I  sauntered  about. 
Staten  Island  looked  so  alluring,  tender-hued  with 
summer  and  melting  in  the  haze,  that  I  resolved  to 
indulge  myself  in  a  pleasure-trip.  It  was  a  little 
selfish,  perhaps,  to  go  alone,  but  I  looked  at  my 
watch,  and  saw  that  if  I  should  hurry  home  for 
Prue  the  trip  would  be  lost ;  then  I  should  be  dis 
appointed,  and  she  would  be  grieved. 

Ought  I  not  rather  (I  like  to  begin  questions, 
which  I  arn  going  to  answer  affirmatively,  with 
ought,}  to  take  the  trip  and  recount  my  adventures 


S(5  PEUE    AND    I. 

to  Prue  upon  my  return,  whereby  I  should  actually 
enjoy  the  excursion  and  the  pleasure  of  telling  her; 
while  she  would  enjoy  my  story  and  be  glad  that  I 
was  pleased?  Ought  I  wilfully  to  deprive  us  both 
of  this  various  enjoyment  by  aiming  at  a  higher, 
which,  in  losing,  we  should  lose  all  ? 

Unfortunaely,  just  as  I  was  triumphantly  answer 
ing  "Certainly  not!"  another  question  marched 
into  my  mind,  escorted  by  a  very  defiant  ought. 

"  Ought  I  to  go  when  I  have  such  a  debate  about 
it?" 

But  while  I  was  perplexed,  and  scoffing  at  my 
own  scruples,  the  ferry-bell  suddenly  rang,  and  an 
swered  all  my  questions.  Involuntarily  I  hurried 
on  board.  The  boat  slipped  from  the  dock.  I  went 
up  on  deck  to  enjoy  the  view  of  the  city  from  the 
bay,  but  just  as  I  sat  down,  and  meant  to  have  said 
"  how  beautiful !"  I  found  myself  asking  : 

"  Ought  I  to  have  come?" 

Lost  in  perplexing  debate,  I  saw  little  of  the 
scenery  of  the  bay  ;  but  the  remembrance  of  Prue 
and  the  gentle  influence  of  the  day  plunged  me  into 
a  mood  of  pensive  reverie  which  nothing  tended  to 
destroy,  until  we  suddenly  arrived  at  the  landing. 

As  I  was  stepping  ashore,  I  was  greeted  by  Mr. 
Bourne,  who  passes  the  summer  on  the  island,  anJ 
who  hospitably  asked  if  I  were  going  his  way 


SEA    FEOM    SHORE.  87 

His  way  was  toward  the  southern  end  of  the  island, 
and  I  said  yes.  His  pockets  were  full  of  papers 
and  his  brow  of  wrinkles ;  so  when  we  reached  the 
point  where  he  should  turn  off,  I  asked  him  to  let 
me  alight,  although  he  was  very  anxious  to  carry 
me  wherever  I  was  going. 

"I  am  only  strolling  about,"  I  answered,  as  I 
clambered  carefully  out  of  the  wagon. 

"Strolling  about?"  asked  he,  in  a  bewildered 
manner  ;  "  do  people  stroll  about,  now-a-days  ?" 

"  Sometimes,"  I  answered,  smiling,  as  I  pulled 
my  trowsers  down  over  my  boots,  for  they  had 
dragged  up,  as  I  stepped  out  of  the  wagon,  "and 
beside,  what  can  an  old  book-keeper  do  better  in 
the  dull  season  than  stroll  about  this  pleasant 
island,  and  watch  the  ships  at  sea?" 

Bourne  looked  at  me  with  his  weary  eyes. 

"  I'd  give  five  thousand  dollars  a  year  for  a  dull 
season,"  said  he,  "  but  as  for  strolling,  I've  forgot 
ten  how." 

As  he  spoke,  his  eyes  wandered  dreamily  across 
the  fields  and  woods,  and  were  fastened  upon  the 
distant  sails. 

"  It  is  pleasant,"  he  said  musingly,  arid  fell  into 
silence.  But  I  had  no  time  to  spare,  so  I  wished 
him  good  afternoon. 

u  I  hope  your  wife  is  well,"  said  Bourne  to  me,  as 


88  PRUE    AND    I. 

I  turned  away      Poor  Bourne  !     He  drove  on  alone 
in  his  wagon. 

But  I  made  haste  to  the  most  solitary  point  upon 
the  southern  shore,  and  there  sat,  glad  to  be  so  near 
the  sea.  There  was  that  warm,  sympathetic  silence 
in  the  air,  that  gives  to  Indian-summer  days  almost 
a  human  tenderness  of  feeling.  A  delicate  haze, 
that  seemed  only  the  kindly  air  made  visible,  hung 
over  the  sea.  The  water  lapped  languidly  among 
the  rocks,  and  the  voices  of  children  in  a  boat  be 
yond,  rang  musically,  and  gradually  receded,  until 
they  were  lost  in  the  distance. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  was  aware  of  the  out 
line  of  a  large  ship,  drawn  vaguely  upon  the  mist, 
which  I  supposed,  at  first,  to  be  only  a  kind  of 
mirage.  But  the  more  steadfastly  I  gazed,  the  more 
distinct  it  became,  and  I  could  no  longer  doubt  that 
I  saw  a  stately  ship  lying  at  anchor,  not  more  than 
half  a  mile  from  the  land. 

"  It  is  an  extraordinary  place  to  anchor,"  I  said  to 
myself,  "  or  can  she  be  ashore?" 

There  were  no  signs  of  distress ;  the  sails  were 
carefully  clewed  up,  and  there  were  no  sailors  in 
the  tops,  nor  upon  the  shrouds.  A  flag,  of  fvhich  I 
could  not  see  the  device  or  the  nation,  hung  heavily 
at  the  stern,  and  looked  as  if  it  had  fallen  asleep. 
My  curiosity  began  to  be  singularly  excited.  The 


SEA    FROM    SHOKE.  89 

form  of  the  vessel  seemed  not  to  be  permanent 
but  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  was  sure  that  I 
had  seen  half  a  dozen  different  ships.  As  I  gazed,  I 
saw  no  more  sails  nor  masts,  but  a  long  range  of 
oars,  flashing  like  a  golden  fringe,  or  straight  and 
stiff,  like  the  legs  of  a  sea-monster. 

"It  is  some  bloated  crab,  or  lobster,  magnified  by 
the  mist,"  I  said  to  myself,  complacently. 

But,  at  the  same  moment,  there  was  a  concen 
trated  flashing  and  blazing  in  one  spot  among  the 
rigging,  and  it  was  as  if  I  saw  a  beatified  ram,  or, 
more  truly,  a  sheep-skin,  splendid  as  the  hair  of 
Berenice. 

"  Is  that  the  golden  fleece?"  I  thought.  "  But, 
surely,  Jason  and  the  Argonauts  have  gone  home 
long  since.  Do  people  go  on  gold-fleecing  expedi 
tions  now  ?"  I  asked  myself,  in  perplexity.  "  Can 
this  be  a  California  steamer?" 

How  could  I  have  thought  it  a  steamer  ?  Did  I 
not  see  those  sails,  "thin  and  sere?"  Did  I  not 
feel  the  melancholy  of  that  solitary  bark?  It  had 
a  mystic  aura;  a  boreal  brilliancy  shimmered  in  its 
wake,  for  it  was  drifting  seaward.  A  strange  fear 
curdled  along  my  veins.  That  summer  sun  shone 
cool.  The  weary,  battered  ship  was  gashed,  as  if 
gnawed  by  ice.  There  was  terror  in  the  air,  as  a 
"  skinny  hand  so  brown"  waved  to  me  from  the 


90  PRUE    AND    1. 

deck.  I  lay  as  one  bewitched.  The  hand  of  the 
ancient  mariner  seemed  to  be  reaching  for  me,  like 
the  hand  of  death. 

Death  ?  Why,  as  I  was  inly  praying  Prue's  for 
giveness  for  my  solitary  ramble  and  consequent 
demise,  a  glance  like  the  fulness  of  summer  splendor 
gushed  over  me  ;  the  odor  of  flowers  and  of  eastern 
gums  made  all  the  atmosphere.  I  breathed  the 
orient,  and  lay  drunk  with  balm,  while  that  strange 
ship,  a  golden  galley  now,  with  glittering  draperies 
festooned  with  flowers,  paced  to  the  measured  beat 
of  oars  along  the  calm,  and  Cleopatra  smiled  allur 
ingly  from  the  great  pageant's  heart. 

Was  this  a  barge  for  summer  waters,  this  peculiar 
ship  I  saw?  It  had  a  ruined  dignity,  a  cumbrous 
grandeur,  although  its  masts  were  shattered,  and  its 
sails  rent.  It  hung  preternaturally  still  upon  the 
se?.,  as  if  tormented  and  exhausted  by  long  driving 
and  drifting.  I  saw  no  sailors,  but  a  great  Spanish 
ensign  floated  over,  and  waved,  a  funereal  plume. 
I  knew  it  then.  The  armada  was  long  since 
scattered  ;  but,  floating  far 

"  on  desolate  rainy  seas," 

lost  for  centuries,  and  again  restored  to  sight,  here 
lay  one  of  the  fated  ships  of  Spain.  The  huge 
galleon  seemed  to  fill  all  the  air,  built  up  against 


SEA    FiiOM    SHORE  91 

the  sky  like  the  gilded  ships  of  Claude  Lorraine 
against  the  sunset. 

But  it  fled,  for  now  a  black  flag  fluttered  at  the 
mast-head — a  long  low  vessel  darted  swiftly  where 
the  vast  ship  lay ;  there  came  a  shrill  piping  whistle, 
the  clash  of  cutlasses,  fierce  ringing  oaths,  sharp 
pistol  cracks,  the  thunder  of  command,  and  over  all 
the  gusty  yell  of  a  demoniac  chorus, 

'•  My  name  was  Robert  Kidd,  when  I  sailed." 

— There  were  no  clouds  longer,  but  under  a  serene 
sky  I  saw  a  bark  moving  with  festal  pomp,  thronged 
with  grave  senators  in  flowing  robes,  and  one  with 
ducal  bonnet  in  the  midst,  holding  a  ring.  The 
smooth  bark  swam  upon  a  sea  like  that  of  southern 
latitudes.  I  saw  the  Bucentoro  and  the  nuptials  of 
Venice  and  the  Adriatic. 

Who  where  those  coming  over  the  side?  Who 
crowded  the  boats,  and  sprang  into  the  water,  men 
in  old  Spanish  armor,  with  plumes  and  swords,  and 
bearing  a  glittering  cross?  Who  was  he  standing 
upon  the  deck  with  folded  arms  and  gazing  towards 
the  shore,  as  lovers  on  their  mistresses  and  martyrs 
upon  heaven?  Over  what  distant  and  tumultuous 
seas  had  this  small  craft  escaped  from  other  cen 
turies  and  distant  shores?  What  sounds  of  foreign 
hymns,  forgotten  now,  were  these,  and  what  solen> 


92  PRDEANDI. 

nity  of  debarkation?     Was  this  grave   form,   Co 
lumbus? 

Yet  these  were  not  so  Spanish  as  they  seemed 
just  now.  This  group  of  stern-faced  men  with  high 
peaked  hats,  who  knelt  upon  the  cold  deck  and 
looked  out  upon  a  shore  which,  I  could  see  by  their 
joyless  smile  of  satisfaction,  was  rough,  and  bare, 
and  forbidding.  In  that  soft  afternoon,  standing  in 
mournful  groups  upon  the  small  duck,  why  did 
they  seem  to  me  to  be  seeing  the  sad  shores  of 
wintry  New  England?  That  phantom-ship  could 
not  be  the  May  Flower ! 

I  gazed  long  upon  the  shifting  illusion. 

"  If  I  should  board  this  ship,"  I  asked  myself, 
"where  should  I  go?  whom  should  I  meet?  what 
should  I  see?  Is  not  this  the  vessel  that  shall  carry 
me  to  my  Europe,  my  foreign  countries,  my  im 
possible  India,  the  Atlantis  that  I  have  lost?'? 

As  I  sat  staring  at  it  I  could  not  but  wonder 
whether  Bourne  had  seen  this  sail  when  he  looked 
upon  the  water?  Does  he  see  such  sights  every 
day,  because  he  lives  down  here  ?  Is  it  not  perhaps 
a  magic  yacht  of  his;  and  does  he  slip  off  privately 
after  business  hours  to  Venice,  and  Spain,  and 
Egypt,  perhaps  to  El  Dorado?  Does  he  run  races 
with  Ptolemy,  Philopater  and  Hiero  of  Syracuse 
rare  regattas  on  fabulous  seas? 


SEA    FKOM    SHOEE  93 

Wry  not?  He  is  a  rich  man,  too,  and  why  should 
not  a  New  York  merchant  do  what  a  Syracuse 
tyrant  and  an  Egyptian  prince  did?  Has  Bourne's 
yacht  those  sumptuous  chambers,  like  Philopater's 
galley,  of  which  the  greater  part  was  made  of  split 
cedar,  and  of  Milesian  cypress ;  and  has  he  twenty 
doors  put  together  with  beams  of  citron-wood,  with 
many  ornaments?  Has  the  roof  of  his  cabin  a 
carved  golden  face,  and  is  his  sail  linen  with  a 
purple  fringe? 

"  I  suppose  it  is  so,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  looked 
wistfully  at  the  ship,  which  began  to  glimmer  and 
melt  in  the  haze. 

"It  certainly  is  not  a  fishing  smack?"  I  asked 
doubtfully. 

No,  it  must  be  Bourne's  magic  yacht ;  I  was  sure 
of  it.  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  poor  old  Hiero.. 
whose  cabins  were  divided  into  many  rooms,  with 
floors  composed  of  mosaic  work,  of  all  kinds  of 
stones  tessellated.  And,  on  this  mosaic,  the  whole 
story  of  the  Iliad  was  depicted  in  a  marvellous  man 
ner.  He  had  gardens  "  of  all  sorts  of  most  wonder 
ful  beauty,  enriched  writh  all  sorts  of  plants,  and 
shadowed  by  roofs  of  lead  or  tiles.  And,  besides 
this,  there  were  tents  roofed  with  boughs  of  white 
ivy  and  of  the  vine — the  roots  of  which  derived 
their  moisture  from  casks  full  of  earth,  and  were 


94  PRUE    AND    I. 

watered  in  the  same  manner  as  the  gardens,  There 
were  temples,  also,  with  doors  of.  ivory  and  citron- 
wood,  furnished  in  the  mo^t  exquisite  manner,  with 
pictures  and  statues,  and  with  goblets  and  vases  of 
every  form  arid  shape  imaginable." 

"  Poor  Bourne !"  I  said.  "  I  suppose  his  is  finer 
than  Hiero's, 'which  is  a  thousand  years  old.  Poor 
Bourne !  I  don't  wonder  that  his  eyes  are  weary, 
and  that  he  would  pay  so  dearly  for  a  day  of  leisure. 
Dear  me  !  is  it  one  of  the  prices  that  must  be  paid 
for  wealth,  the  keeping  up  a  magic  yacht  ?" 

Involuntarily,  I  had  asked  the  question  aloud. 

"  The  magic  yacht  is  not  Bourne's,"  answered  a 
familiar  voice.  I  looked  up,  and  Titbottom  stood 
by  my  side.  "  Do  you  not  know  that  all  Bourne's 
money  would  not  buy  the  yacht  ?"  asked  he.  "  He 
cannot  even  see  it.  And  if  he  could,  it  would  be 
no  magic  yacht  to  him,  but  only  a  battered  and  soli 
tary  hulk." 

The  haze  blew  gently  aw7ay,  as  Titbottom  spoke, 
and  there  lay  my  Spanish  galleon,  my  Bucentoro, 
my  Cleopatra's  galley,  Columbus's  Santa  Maria, 
and  the  Pilgrims'  May  Flower,  an  old  bleaching 
wreck  upon  the  beach. 

"  Do  you  suppose  any  true  love  is  in  vain  ?"  asked 

Titbottom  solemnly,  as  he  stood  bareheaded,  and  the 

eft  sunset  wind  played  with  his  few  hairs.    "  Could 


SEA    FROM    SHORE  95 

Cleopatra  smile  upon  Antony,  and  the  moon  upon 
Endymion,  and  the  sea  not  love  its  lovers?" 

The  fresh  air  breathed  upon  our  faces  as  he  spoke. 
I  might  have  sailed  in  Hiero's  ship,  or  in  Roman 
galleys,  had  I  lived  long  centuries  ago,  and  been 
born  a  nobleman.  But  would  it  be  so  sweet  a  re 
membrance,  that  of  lying  on  a  marble  couch,  under 
a  golden-faced  roof,  and  within  doors  of  citron-wood 
and  ivory,  and  sailing  in  that  state  to  greet  queens 
who  are  mummies  now,  as  that  of  seeing  those  fair 
figures,  standing  under  the  great  gonfalon,  them 
selves  as  lovely  as  Egyptian  belles,  and  going  to  see, 
more  than  Egypt  dreamed? 

The  yacht  was  mine,  then,  and  not  Bourne's.  I 
took  Titbottom's  arm,  and  we  sauntered  toward  the 
ferry.  What  sumptuous  sultan  was  I,  with  this  sad 
vizier  ?  My  languid  odalisque,  the  sea,  lay  at  my 
feet  as  we  advanced,  and  sparkled  all  over  with  a 
sunset  smile.  Had  I  trusted  myself  to  her  arms,  to 
be  borne  to  the  realms  that  I  shall  never  see,  or 
sailed  long  voyages  towards  Cathay,  I  am  not  sure 
I  should  have  brought  a  more  precious  present  to 
Prue,  than  the  story  of  that  afternoon. 

"  Ought  I  to  have  gone  alone  ?"  I  asked  her,  as  I 
ended. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  gone  with  you,"  she  replied, 
*  for  I  had  work  to  do.     But  how  strange  that  you 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


96  PRUE     AND     I. 

should  see  such  things  at  Staten  Island.  I  never 
did,  Mr.  Titbottom,"  said  she,  turning  to  my  deputy, 
whom  I  had  asked  to  tea. 

"  Madam,"  answered  Titbottom,  with  a  kind  of 
wan  and  quaint  dignity,  so  that  I  could  not  help 
thinking  he  must  have  arrived  in  that  stray  ship 
from  the  Spanish  armada,  "  neither  did  Mr.  Bourne." 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES, 


In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio." 

Hamlet. 


TIT  BOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES, 

"  In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio." 

Hamlet 

PRUE  and  I  do  not  entertain  much  ;  our  means 
forbid  it.  In  truth,  other  people  entertain  for  us. 
We  enjoy  that  hospitality  of  which  no  account  is 
made.  We  see  the  show,  and  hear  the  music,  and 
smell  the  flowers,  of  great  festivities,  tasting,  as  it 
were,  the  drippings  from  rich  dishes. 

Our  own  dinner  service  is  remarkably  plain,  our 
dinners,  even  on  state  occasions,  are  strictly  in  keep 
ing,  and  almost  our  only  guest  is  Titbottom.  I  buy 
a  handful  of  roses  as  I  come  up  from  the  office,  per 
haps,  and  Prue  arranges  them  so  prettily  in  a  glass 
dish  for  the  centre  of  the  table,  that,  even  when  I 
have  hurried  out  to  see  Aurelia  step  into  her  car 
riage  to  go  out  to  dine,  I  have  thought  that  the 
bouquet  she  carried  was  not  more  beautiful  because 
it  was  more  costly. 

I  grant  that  it  was  more  harmonious  with  her 
superb  beauty  and  her  rich  attire.  And  I  have  no 
doubt  that  if  Aurelia  knew  the  old  man,  whom  she 


100  PRUE    AND    I. 

must  have  seen  so  often  watching  her,  and  his  wife, 
who  ornaments  her  sex  with  as  much  sweetness, 
although  with  less  splendor,  than  Aurelia  herself, 
she  would  also  acknowledge  that  the  nosegay  of 
roses  was  as  fine  and  fit  upon  their  table,  as  her  own 
sumptuous  bouquet  is  for  herself.  I  have  so  much 
faith  in  the  perception  of  that  lovely  lady. 

It  is  my  habit, — I  hope  I  may  say,  my  nature, — 
to  believe  the  best  of  people,  rather  than  the  worst. 
If  I  thought  that  all  this  sparkling  setting  of  beauty, 
— this  fine  fashion,-— -these  blazing  jewels,  and  lus 
trous  silks,  and  airy  gauzes,  embellished  with  gold- 
threaded  embroidery  and  wrought  in  a  thousand 
exquisite  elaborations,  so  that  I  cannot  see  one  of 
those  lovely  girls  pass  me  by,  without  thanking 
God  for  the  vision, — if  I  thought  that  this  was 
all,  and  that,  underneath  her  lace  flounces  and  dia 
mond  bracelets,  Aurelia  was  a  sullen,  selfish  woman, 
then  I  should  turn  sadly  homeward,  for  I  should 
see  that  her  jewels  were  flashing  scorn  upon  the 
object  they  adorned,  that  her  laces  were  of  a  more 
exquisite  loveliness  than  the  woman  whom  they 
merely  touched  with  a  superficial  grace.  It  would 
be  like  a  gaily  decorated  mausoleum, — bright  to 
see,  but  silent  and  dark  within. 

"  Great  excellences,  my  dear  Prue,"  I  sometimes 
allow  myself  to  say,  "  lie  concealed  in  the  depths 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  101 

of  character,  like  pearls  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Under  the  laughing,  glancing  surface,  how  little 
they  are  suspected !  Perhaps  love  is  nothing  else 
than  the  sight  of  them  by  one  person.  Hence  every 
man's  mistress  is  apt  to  be  an  enigma  to  everybody 
else. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  when  Aurelia  is  engaged, 
people  will  say  she  is  a  most  admirable  girl,  cer 
tainly  ;  but  they  cannot  understand  why  any  man 
should  be  in  love  with  her.  As  if  it  were  at  all 
necessary  that  they  should  !  And  her  lover,  like  a 
boy  who  finds  a  pearl  in  the  public  street,  and  won 
ders  as  much  that  others  did  not  see  it  as  that  he 
did,  will  tremble  until  he  knows  his  passion  is  re 
turned  ;  feeling,  of  course,  that  the  whole  world 
must  be  in  love  with  this  paragon,  who  cannot  pos 
sibly  smile  upon  anything  so  unworthy  as  he. 

"  I  hope,  therefore,  my  dear  Mrs.  Prue,"  I  con 
tinue,  and  my  wife  looks  up,  with  pleased  pride, 
from  her  work,  as  if  I  were  such  an  irresistible  hu 
morist,  "  you  will  allow  me  to  believe  that  the 
depth  may  be  calm,  although  the  surface  is  dan 
cing.  If  you  tell  me  that  Aurelia  is  but  a  giddy 
girl,  I  shall  believe  that  you  think  so.  But  I  shall 
know,  all  the  while,  what  profound  dignity,  and 
sweetness,  and  peace,  lie  at  the  foundation  of  her 
character.'' 


102  PRUE    AND    I. 

I  say  such  things  to  Titbottom,  during  ihe  dull 
season  at  the  office.  And  I  have  known  him  some 
times  to  reply,  with  a  kind  of  dry,  sad  humor,  not 
as  if  he  enjoyed  the  joke,  but  as  if  the  joke  must  be 
made,  that  he  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  be  dull 
because  the  season  was  so. 

"  And  what  do  I  know  of  Aurelia,  or  any  other 
girl?"  he  says  to  me  with  that  abstracted  air;  "I, 
whose  Aurelias  were  of  another  century,  and  another 
zone." 

Then  he  falls  into  a  silence  which  it  seems  quite 
profane  to  interrupt.  But  as  we  sit  upon  our  high 
stools,  at  the  desk,  opposite  each  other,  I  leaning 
upon  my  elbows,  and  looking  at  him,  he,  with 
sidelong  face,  glancing  out  of  the  window,  as  if  it 
commanded  a  boundless  landscape,  instead  of  a 
dim,  dingy  office  court,  I  cannot  refrain  from 
saying : 

"Well!" 

He  turns  slowly,  and  I  go  chatting  on, — a  little 
too  loquacious  perhaps,  about  those  young  girls. 
But  I  know  that  Titbottom  regards  such  an  excess 
as  venial,  for  his  sadness  is  so  sweet  that  you  could 
believe  it  the  reflection  of  a  smile  from  long,  long 
years  ago. 

One  day,  after  I  had  been  talking  for  a  long 
•time,  and  we  had  put  up  our  books,  and  were  pre- 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  103 

paring  to  leave,  he  stood  for  some  time  by  the 
window,  gazing  with  a  drooping  intentness,  as  if  he 
really  saw  something  more  than  the  dark  court,  and 
said  slowly : 

<k  Perhaps  you  would  have  different  impressions 
of  things,  if  you  saw  them  through  my  spectacles." 

There  was  no  change  in  his  expression.  He  still 
looked  from  the  window,  and  I  said : 

"  Titbottom,  I  did  not  know  that  you  used  glasses. 
I  have  never  seen  you  wearing  spectacles." 

"  No,  I  don't  often  wear  them.  I  am  not  very 
fond  of  looking  through  them.  But  sometimes  an 
irresistible  necessity  compels  me  to  put  them  on. 
and  I  cannot  help  seeing.' 

Titbottom  sighed. 

"  Is  it  so  grievous  a  fate  to  see?"  inquired  I. 

"  Yes ;  through  my  spectacles,"  he  said,  turning 
slowly,  and  looking  at  me  with  wan  solemnity. 

It  grew  dark  as  we  stood  in  the  office  talking, 
and,  taking  our  hats,  we  went  out  together.  The 
narrow  street  of  business  was  deserted.  The  heavy 
iron  shutters  were  gloomily  closed  over  the  win 
dows.  From  one  or  two  offices  struggled  the  dim 
gleam  of  an  early  candle,  by  whose  light  some  per 
plexed  accountant  sat  belated,  and  hunting  for  hia 
error.  A  careless  clerk  passed,  whistling.  But  the 
great  tide  of  life  had  ebbed.  We  heard  its  roar  far 


104  PRUE    AND    1. 

away,  and  the  sound  stole  into  that  silent  street  like 
the  murmur  of  the  ocean  into  an  inland  dell. 

"  You  will  come  and  dine  with  us,  Titbottom?" 

He  assented  by  continuing  to  walk  with  me,  and 
I  think  we  were  both  glad  when  we  reached  the 
house,  and  Prue  came  to  meet  us,  saying : 

"Do  you  know  I  hoped  you  would  bring  Mr. 
Titbottom  to  dine?" 

Titbottom  smiled  gently,  and  answered : 

"He  might  have  brought  his  spectacles  with 
him,  and  have  been  a  happier  man  for  it." 

Prue  looked  a  little  puzzled. 

"My  dear,"  I  said,  "you  must  know  that  our 
friend,  Mr.  Titbottom,  is  the  happy  possessor  of  a 
pair  of  wonderful  spectacles.  I  have  never  seen 
them,  indeed  ;  and,  from  what  he  says,  I  should  be 
rather  afraid  of  being  seen  by  them.  Most  short 
sighted  persons  are  very  glad  to  have  the  help  of 
glasses  ;  but  Mr.  Titbottom  seems  to  find  very  little 
pleasure  in  his." 

"  It  is  because  they  make  him  too  far-sighted, 
perhaps,"  interrupted  Prue  quietly,  as  she  took  the 
silver  soup-ladle  from  the  sideboard. 

We  sipped  our  wine  after  dinner,  and  Prue  took 
her  work.  Can  a  man  be  too  far-sighted?  I  did 
not  ask  the  question  aloud.  The  very  tone  in  which 
Prue  had  spoken,  convinced  me  that  he  might. 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES  1.05 

<*  At  least,"  I  said,  "  Mr.  Titbottom  will  not  re 
fuse  to  tell  us  the  history  of  his  mysterious  spec 
tacles.  I  have  known  plenty  of  magic  in  eyes  (and 
I  glanced  at  the  tender  blue  eyes  of  Prue),  but  I 
have  not  heard  of  any  enchanted  glasses." 

"Yet  you  must  have  seen  the  glass  in  which 
your  wife  looks  every  morning,  and,  I  take  it,  that 
glass  must  be  daily  enchanted,"  said  Titbottom, 
with  a  bow  of  quaint  respect  to  my  wife. 

I  do  not  think  I  have  seen  such  a  blush  upon 
Prue's  cheek  since — well,  since  a  great  many  years 
ago. 

"  I  will  gladly  tell  you  the  history  of  my  spec 
tacles,"  began  Titbottom.  "  It  is  very  simple  ;  and 
I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  a  great  many  other  people 
have  not  a  pair  of  the  same  kind.  I  have  never, 
indeed,  heard  of  them  by  the  gross,  like  those  of 
our  young  friend,  Moses,  the  son  of  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield.  In  fact,  I  think  a  gross  would  be  quite 
enough  to  supply  the  world.  It  is  a  kind  of  article 
for  which  the  demand  does  not  increase  with  use 
If  we  should  all  wear  spectacles  like  mine,  we 
should  never  smile  any  more.  Or — I  am  not  quite 
sure — we  should  all  be  very  happy." 

"  A  very  important  difference,"  said  Prue,  count 
ing  her  stitches. 

"  You  know  my  grandfather  Titbottom    was   a 


106  TRUE   AND   I. 

West  Indian.  A  large  proprietor,  arid  an  easy  man- 
he  basked  in  the  tropical  sun,  leading  his  quiet, 
luxurious  life.  He  lived  much  alone,  and  was  what 
people  call  eccentric — by  which  I  understand,  that 
he  was  very  much  himself,  and.  refusing  the  influ 
ence  of  other  people,  they  had  their  revenges,  and 
called  him  names.  It  is  a  habit  not  exclusively 
tropical.  I  think  I  have  seen  the  same  thing  even 
in  this  city. 

"  But  he  was  greatly  beloved — my  bland  and 
bountiful  grandfather.  He  was  so  large-hearted 
and  open-handed.  He  was  so  friendly,  and  thought 
ful,  and  genial,  that  even  his  jokes  had  the  air  of 
graceful  benedictions.  He  did  not  seem  to  grow 
old,  and  he  was  one  of  those  who  never  appear  to 
have  been  very  young.  He  flourished  in  a  peren 
nial  maturity,  an  immortal  middle-age. 

"  My  grandfather  lived  upon  one  of  the  small 
islands — St.  Kitt's,  perhaps — and  his  domain  ex 
tended  to  the  sea.  His  house,  a  rambling  West 
Indian  mansion,  was  surrounded  with  deep,  spa 
cious  piazzas,  covered  with  luxurious  lounges, 
among  which  one  capacious  chair  was  his  peculiar 
seat.  They  tell  me,  he  used  sometimes  to  sit  there 
for  the  v/hole  day,  his  great,  soft,  brown  eyes  fast 
ened  upon  the  sea,  watching  the  specks  of  sails 
that  flashed  upon  the  horizon,  while  the  evanescent 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  107 

expressions  chased  each  other  over  his  placid  face 
as  if  it  reflected  the  calm  and  changing  sea  before 
him. 

"  His  morning  costume  was  an  ample  dressing 
gown  of  gorgeously-flowered  silk,  and  his  morning 
was  very  apt  to  last  all  day.  He  rarely  read  ;  but 
he  would  pace  the  great  piazza  for  hours,  with  his 
hands  buried  in  the  pockets  of  his  dressing-gown, 
and  an  air  of  sweet  reverie,  which  any  book  must 
be  a  very  entertaining  one  to  produce. 

"  Society,  of  course,  he  saw  little.  There  was 
some  slight  apprehension  that,  if  he  were  bidden  to 
social  entertainments,  he  might  forget  his  coat,  or 
arrive  without  some  other  essential  part  of  his 
dress ;  and  there  is  a  sly  tradition  in  the  Titbottom 
family,  that  once,  having  been  invited  to  a  ball  in 
honor  of  a  new  governor  of  the  island,  my  grand 
father  Titbottom  sauntered  into  the  hall  towards 
midnight,  wrapped  in  the  gorgeous  flowers  of  his 
dressing-gown,  and  with  his  hands  buried  in  the 
pockets,  as  usual.  There  was  great  excitement 
among  the  guests,  and  immense  deprecation  of 
gubernatorial  ire.  Fortunately,  it  happened  that 
the  governor  and  my  grandfather  were  old  friends, 
and  there  was  no  offence.  But,  as  they  were  con 
versing  together,  one  of  the  distressed  managers 
casi  indignant  glances  at  the  brilliant  costume  of 


108  PRUE    AND    I. 

my  giandfatlier,  who  summoned  him,  and  asked 
courteously : 

"  'Did  you  invite  me,  or  my  coat  ?' 

"  *  You,  in  a  proper  coat,'  replied  the  manager. 

'  The  governor  smiled  approvingly,  and  looked 
at  my  grandfather. 

"  'My  friend,'  said  he  to  the  manager,  '  I  beg  your 
pardon,  I  forgot.' 

"  The  next  day,  my  grandfather  was  seen  prome 
nading  in  full  ball  dress  along  the  streets  of  the 
little  town. 

"  '  They  ought  to  know/  said  he,  '  that  I  have  a 
proper  coat,  and  that  not  contempt,  nor  poverty, 
but  forgetful  ness,  sent  me  to  a  ball  in  my  dressing- 
gown.' 

"  He  did  not  much  frequent  social  festivals  aftet 
this  failure,  but  he  always  told  the  story  with  satis 
faction  and  a  quiet  smile. 

"  To  a  stranger,  life  upon  those  little  islands  is 
uniform  even  to  weariness.  But  the  old  native 
dons,  like  my  grandfather,  ripen  in  the  prolonged 
sunshine,  like  the  turtle  upon  the  Bahama  banks, 
nor  know  of  existence  more  desirable.  Life  in  the 
tropics,  I  take  to  be  a  placid  torpidity. 

"  During  the  long  warm  mornings  of  nearly  half 
a  century,  my  grandfather  Titbottom  had  sat  in  his 
dressing-gown,  and  gazed  at  the  sea.  But  one  calm. 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  103 

June  day,  as  he  slowly  paced  the  piazza  after 
breakfast,  his  dreamy  glance  was  arrested  by  a 
little  vessel,  evidently  nearing  the  shore.  He  called 
for  his  spyglass,  and,  surveying  the  craft,  saw  that 
she  came  from  the  neighboring  island.  She  glided 
smoothly,  slowly,  over  the  summer  sea.  The  warm 
morning  air  was  sweet  with  perfumes,  and  silent 
with  heat.  The  sea  sparkled  languidly,  and  the 
brilliant  blue  sky  hung  cloudlessly  over.  Scores  of 
little  island  vessels  had  my  grandfather  seen  coming 
over  the  horizon,  and  cast  anchor  in  the  port. 
Hundreds  of  summer  mornings  had  the  white  sails 
flashed  and  faded,  like  vague  faces  through  forgotten 
dreams.  But  this  time  he  laid  down  the  spyglass, 
and  leaned  against  a  column  of  the  piazza,  and 
watched  the  vessel  with  an  intentness  that  he  could 
not  explain.  She  came  nearer  and  nearer,  a  grace 
ful  spectre  in  the  dazzling  morning. 

"'Decidedly,  I  must  step  down  and  see  about 
that  vessel,'  said  my  grandfather  Titbottom. 

"He  gathered  his  ample  dressing-gown  about 
him,  and  stepped  from  the  piazza,  with  no  other 
protection  from  the  sun  than  the  little  smoking-cap 
upon  his  head.  His  face  wore  a  calm,  beaming 
smile,  as  if  he  loved  the  whole  world.  He  was  not 
an  old  man  ;  but  there  was  almost  a  patriarchal 
pathos  in  his  expression,  as  he  sauntered  along  in 


110  PRUE    AND    I. 

the  sunshine  towards  the  shore.  A  group  of  idle 
gazers  was  collected,  to  watch  the  arrival.  The 
little  vessel  furled  her  sails,  and  drifted  slowly  land 
ward,  and,  as  she  was  of  very  light  draft,  she  came 
close  to  the  shelving  shore.  A  long  plank  was  put 
out  from  her  side,  and  the  debarkation  commenced 

"  My  grandfather  Titbottom  stood  looking  on,  to 
see  the  passengers  as  they  passed.  There  were  but 
a  few  of  them,  and  mostly  traders  from  the  neigh 
boring  island.  But  suddenly  the  face  of  a  young 
girl  appeared  over  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  she 
stepped  upon  the  plank  to  descend.  My  grandfather 
Titbottom  instantly  advanced,  and,  moving  briskly, 
reached  the  top  of  the  plank  at  the  same  moment, 
and  with  the  old  tassel  of  his  cap  flashing  in  the 
sun,  and  one  hand  in  the  pocket  of  his  dressing- 
gown,  with  the  other  he  handed  the  young  lady 
carefully  down  the  plank.  That  young  lady  was 
afterwards  my  grandmother  Titbottom. 

"  For,  over  the  gleaming  sea  which  he  had 
watched  so  long,  and  which  seemed  thus  to  re 
ward  his  patient  gaze,  came  his  bride  that  sunny 
morning. 

"  Of  course,-  we  are  happy,'  he  used  to  say  to 
her,  after  they  were  married  :  '  For  you  are  the  gift 
of  the  sun  I  have  loved  so  long  and  so  well.'  And 
my  grandfather  Titbottom  would  lay  his  hand  so 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  Ill 

tenderly  upon  the  golden  hair  of  his  young  bride, 
that  you  could  fancy  him  a  devout  Parsee,  caressing 
sunbeams. 

"There  were  endless  festivities  upon  occasion  of 
the  marriage ;  and  my  grandfather  did  not  go  to 
one  of  them  in  his  dressing-gown.  The  gentle 
sweetness  of  his  wife  melted  every  heart  into  love 
and  sympathy.  He  was  much  older  than  she,  with 
out  doubt.  But  age,  as  he  used  to  say  with  a  smile 
of  immortal  youth,  is  a  matter  of  feeling,  not  of 
years. 

"  And  if,  sometimes,  as  she  sat  by  his  side  on  the 
piazza,  her  fancy  looked  through  her  eyes  upon  that 
summer  sea,  and  saw  a  younger  lover,  perhaps  some 
one  of  those  graceful  and  glowing  heroes  who  occu 
py  the  foreground  of  all  young  maidens'  visions  by 
the  sea,  yet  she  could  not  find  one  more  generous 
and  gracious,  nor  fancy  one  more  worthy  and  loving 
than  my  grandfather  Titbottom. 

"  And  if,  in  the  moonlit  midnight,  while  he  lay 
calmly  sleeping,  she  leaned  out  of  the  window, 
and  sank  into  vague  reveries  of  sweet  possibility, 
and  watched  the  gleaming  path  of  the  moonlight 
upon  the  water,  until  the  dawn  glided  over  it — it 
was  only  that  mood  of  nameless  regret  and  longing, 
which  underlies  all  human  happiness;  or  it  was 
the  vision  of  that  life  of  cities  and  the  world,  which 


112  PRUE   AND   1. 

she  had  never  seen,  but  of  which  she  had  often  read, 
and  which  looked  very  fair  and  alluring  across  the 
aea,  to  a  girlish  imagination,  which  knew  that  it 
should  never  see  that  reality. 

"  These  West  Indian  years  were  the  great  days 
of  the  family,"  said  Titbottom,  with  an  air  of  ma 
jestic  and  regal  regret,  pausing,  and  musing,  in  our 
little  parlor,  like  a  late  Stuart  in  exile,  remembering 
England. 

Prue  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work,  and  looked 
at  him  with  subdued  admiration ;  for  I  have  ob 
served  that,  like  the  rest  of  her  sex,  she  has  a  singu 
lar  sympathy  with  the  representative  of  a  reduced 
family. 

Perhaps  it  is  their  finer  perception,  which  leads 
these  tender-hearted  women  to  recognize  the  divine 
right  of  social  superiority  so  much  more  readily  than 
we  ;  and  yet,  much  as  Titbottom  was  enhanced  in 
my  wife's  admiration  by  the  discovery  that  his  dusky 
sadness  of  nature  ana1  expression  was,  as  it  were,  the 
expiring  gleam  and  late  twilight  of  ancestral  splen 
dors,  I  doubt  if  Mr.  Bourne  would  have  preferred 
him  for  book-keeper  a  moment  sooner  upon  that 
account.  In  truth,  I  have  observed,  down  town, 
that  the  fact  of  your  ancestors  doing  nothing,  is  not 
considered  good  proof  that  you  can  do  anything. 

Bu'  Vrue  and  her  sex  regard  sentiment  more  than 


TITBOT  TOM'S    SPECTACLES.  113 

actior,  and  I  understand  easily  enough  why  she  is 
never  tired  of  bearing  me  read  of  Prince  Charlie. 
If  Titbottom  had  been  only  a  little  younger,  a  little 
handsomer,  a  little  more  gallantly  dressed — in  fact, 
a  little  more  of  a  Prince  Charlie,  I  am  sure  her  eyes 
would  not  have  fallen  again  upon  her  work  so  tran 
quilly,  as  he  resumed  his  story. 

"I  can  remember  my  grandfather  Titbottom, 
although  I  was  a  very  young  child,  and  he  was  a 
very  old  man.  My  young  mother  and  my  young 
grandmother  are  very  distinct  figures  in  my  memo 
ry,  ministering  to  the  old  gentleman,  wrapped  in 
his  dressing-gown,  and  seated  upon  the  piazza.  I 
remember  his  white  hair,  and  his  calm  smile,  and 
how,  not  long  before  he  died,  he  called  me  to 
him,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  my  head,  said  to 
me  : 

"  '  My  child,  the  world  is  not  this  great  sunny 
piazza,  nor  life  the  fairy  stories  which  the  women 
tell  you  here,  as  you  sit  in  their  laps.  I  shall  soon 
be  gone,  but  I  want  to  leave  with  you  some  me 
mento  of  my  love  for  you,  and  I  know  of  nothing 
more  valuable  than  these  spectacles,  which  youi 
grandmother  brought  from  her  native  island,  when 
she  arrived  here  one  fine  summer  morning,  long 
ago.  I  cannot  tell  whether,  when  you  grow  older, 
you  will  regard  them  as  a  gift  of  the  greatest  value. 


114  PKUE    AND    I. 

or  as  something  that  you  had  been  happier  never  to 
have  possessed.' 

"  '  But,  grandpapa,  I  am  not  short-sighted.' 

"'My  son,  are  you  not  human?'  said  the  old 
gentleman  ;  and  how  shall  I  ever  forget  the  thought-1 
ful  sadness  with  which,  at  the  same  time,  he  handed 
rne  the  spectacles. 

"  Instinctively  I  put  them  on,  and  looked  at  my 
grandfather.  But  I  saw  no  grandfather,  no  piazza, 
no  flowered  dressing-gown  ;  I  saw  only  a  luxuriant 
palm-tree,  waving  broadly  over  a  tranquil  landscape 
pleasant  homes  clustered  around  it;  gardens  teem 
ing  with  fruit  and  flowers;  flocks  quietly  feeding; 
birds  wheeling  and  chirping.  I  heard  children's 
voices,  and  the  low  lullaby  of  happy  mothers.  The 
sound  of  cheerful  singing  came  wafted  from  distant 
fields  upon  the  light  breeze.  Golden  harvests 
glistened  out  of  sight,  and  I  caught  their  rustling 
whispers  of  prosperity.  A  warm,  mellow  atmos 
phere  bathed  the  whole. 

"  I  have  seen  copies  of  the  landscapes  of  the 
Italian  painter  Claude,  which  seemed  to  me  faint 
reminiscences  of  that  calm  and  happy  vision.  But 
all  this  peace  and  prosperity  seemed  to  flow  from 
the  spreading  palm  as  from  a  fountain. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  looked,  but  I  had, 
apparently,  no  power,  as  I  had  no  will,  to  remove 


TIT  BOTTOM    S    SPECTACLES.  HO 

the  spectacles.  What  a  wonderful  island  must 
Nevis  be,  thought  I,  if  people  carry  such  pictures 
in  their  pockets,  only  by  buying  a  pair  of  spec 
tacles  !  What  wonder  that  my  dear  grandmother 
Titbottom  has  lived  such  a  placid  life,  and  has 
blessed  us  all  with  her  sunny  temper,  when  she  has 
lived  surrounded  by  such  images  of  peace! 

"My  grandfather  died.  But  still,  in  the  warm 
morning  sunshine  upon  the  piazza,  I  felt  his  placid 
presence,  and  as  I  crawled  into  his  great  chair,  and 
drifted  on  in  reverie  through  the  still  tropical  day, 
it  was  as  if  his  soft  dreamy  eye  had  passed  into  my 
soul.  My  grandmother  cherished  his  memory  with 
tender  regret.  A  violent  passion  of  grief  for  his 
loss  was  no  more  possible  than  for  the  pensive  de 
cay  of  the  year. 

"  We  have  no  portrait  of  him,  but  I  see  always, 
when  I  remember  him,  that  peaceful  and  luxuriant 
palm.  And  I  think  that  to  have  known  one  good 
old  man — one  man  who,  through  the  chances  and 
rubs  of  a  long  life,  has  carried  his  heart  in  his  hand, 
like  a  palm  branch,  waving  all  discords  into  peace, 
helps  our  faith  in  God,  in  ourselves,  and  in  each 
other,  more  than  many  sermons.  I  hardly  know 
whether  to  be  grateful  to  my  grandfather  for 
the  spectacles ;  and  yet  when  I  remember  that 
it  is  to  them  I  owe  the  pleasant  image  of  him 


110  PKUB     AND    I 

which  I  cherish  I  seem  to  myself  sadly  un 
grateful. 

"  Madam,"  said  Titbottom  to  Prue,  solemnly, 
"  my  memory  is  a  long  and  gloomy  gallery,  and  only 
remotely,  at  its  further  end,  do  I  see  the  glimmer 
of  soft  sunshine,  and  only  there  are  the  pleasant 
pictures  hung.  They  seem  to  me  very  happy  along 
whose  gallery  the  sunlight  streams  to  their  very 
feet,  striking  all  the  pictured  walls  into  unfading 
splendor." 

Prue  had  laid  her  work  in  her  lap,  and  as  Titbot 
tom  paused  a  moment,  and  I  turned  towards  her,  I 
found  her  mild  eyes  fastened  upon  my  face,  and 
glistening  with  many  tears.  I  knew  that  the  tears 
meant  that  she  felt  herself  to  be  one  of  those  who 
seemed  to  Titbottom  very  happy. 

"  Misfortunes  of  many  kinds  came  heavily  upon 
the  family  after  the  head  was  gone.  The  great 
house  was  relinquished.  My  parents  were  both 
dead,  and  my  grandmother  had  entire  charge  of  me. 
But  from  the  moment  that  I  received  the  gift  of  the 
spectacles,  I  could  not  resist  their  fascination,  and 
I  withdrew  into  myself,  and  became  a  solitary  boy. 
There  were  not  many  companions  for  me  of  my 
own  age,  and  they  gradually  left  me,  or,  at  least, 
had  not  a  hearty  sympathy  with  me ;  for,  if  they 
teased  me,  I  pulled  out  my  spectacles  and  surveyed 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  117 

them  so  seriously  that  they  acquired  a  kind  of  awe 
of  me,  and  evidently  regarded  my  grandfather's  gift 
as  a  concealed  magical  weapon  which  might  be 
dangerously  drawn  upon  them  at  any  moment. 
Whenever,  in  our  games,  there  were  quarrels  and 
high  words,  and  I  began  to  feel  about  my  dress  and 
to  wear  a  grave  look,  they  all  took  the  alarm,  and 
shouted,  'Look  out  for  Titbottom's  spectacles,'  and 
scattered  like  a  flock  of  scared  sheep. 

"Nor  could  I  wonder  at  it.  For,  at  first,  before 
they  took  the  alarm,  I  saw  strange  sights  when  I 
looked  at  them  through  the  glasses. 

"  If  two  were  quarrelling  about  a  marble  or  a 
ball,  I  had  only  to  go  behind  a  tree  where  I  was 
concealed  and  look  at  them  leisurely.  Then  the 
scene  changed,  and  ifc  was  no  longer  a  green  meadow 
with  boys  playing,  but  a  spot  which  I  did  not  re 
cognise,  and  forms  that  made  me  shudder,  or  smile. 
It  was  not  a  big  boy  bullying  a  little  one,  but  a 
young  wolf  with  glistening  teeth  and  a  lamb  cower 
ing  before  him  ;  or,  it  was  a  dog  faithful  and  famish 
ing — or  a  star  going  slowly  into  eclipse — or  a  rain 
bow  fading — or  a  flower  blooming — or  a  sun  rising 
— or  a  waning  moon. 

"The  revelations  of  the  spectacles  determined 
my  feeling  for  the  boys,  and  for  all  whom  I  saw 
through  them.  No  shyness,  nor  awkwardness,  nor 


118  PRUE    AND    1 

silence,  could  separate  me  from  those  who  looked 
lovely  as  lilies  to  my  illuminated  eyes  But  the 
vision  made  me  afraid.  If  I  felt  myself  warmly 
drawn  to  any  one.  I  struggled  with  the  fierce  desire 
of  seeing  him  through  the  spectacles,  for  I  feared 
to  find  him  something  else  than  I  fancied.  I  longed 
to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  ignorant  feeling,  to  love 
without  knowing,  to  float  like  a  leaf  upon  the  eddies 
of  life,  drifted  now  to  a  sunny  point,  now  to  a 
solemn  shade — now  over  glittering  ripples,  now 
over  gleaming  calms, — and  not  to  determined  ports, 
a  trim  vessel  with  an  inexorable  rudder. 

"But  sometimes,  mastered  after  long  struggles, 
as  if  the  unavoidable  condition  of  owning  the  spec 
tacles  were  using  them,  I  seized  them  and  sauntered 
into  the  little  town.  Putting  them  to  my  eyes  I 
peered  into  the  houses  and  at  the  people  who  passed 
me.  Here  sat  a  family  at  breakfast,  and  I  stood  at 
the  window  looking  in.  0  motley  meal !  fantastic 
vision !  The  good  mother  saw  her  lord  sitting 
opposite,  a  grave,  respectable  being,  eating  muffins. 
But  I  saw  only  a  bank-bill,  more  or  less  crumbled 
and  tattered,  marked  with  a  larger  or  lesser  figure. 
If  a  sharp  wind  blew  suddenly,  I  saw  it  tremble 
and  flutter  ;  it  was  thin,  flat,  impalpable.  I  removed 
my  glasses,  and  looked  with  my  eyes  at  the  wife.  I 
could  have  smiled  to  see  the  humid  tenderness  with 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  119 

which  she  regarded  her  strange  vis-d-vis.  Is  life 
only  a  game  of  blindman's-buff?  of  droll  cross- 
purposes  V 

"  Or  I  put  them  on  again,  and  then  looked  at  the 
wives.  How  many  stout  trees  I  saw, — how  many 
tender  flowers, — how  many  placid  pools  ;  yes,  and 
how  many  little  streams  winding  out  of  sight, 
shrinking  before  the  large,  hard,  round  eyes  oppo 
site,  and  slipping  off  into  solitude  and  shade,  with  a 
low,  inner  song  for  their  own  solace. 

"  In  many  houses  I  thought  to  see  angels, 
nymphs,  or,  at  least,  women,  and  could  only  find 
broomsticks,  mops,  or  kettles,  hurrying  about,  rat 
tling  and  tinkling,  in  a  state  of  shrill  activity.  I 
made  calls  upon '  elegant  ladies,  and  after  I  had 
enjoyed  the  gloss  of  silk,  and  the  delicacy  of  lace, 
and  the  glitter  of  jewels,  I  slipped  on  my  spectacles, 
and  saw  a  peacock's  feather,  flounced,  and  furbe- 
lowed,  and  fluttering;  or  an  iron  rod,  thin,  sharp, 
and  hard  ;  nor  could  I  possibly  mistake  the  move 
ment  of  the  drapery  for  any  flexibility  of  the  thing 
draped. 

"  Or,  mysteriously  chilled,  I  saw  a  statue  of  per 
feet  form,  or  flowing  movement,  it  might  be  alabas 
ter,  or  bronze,  or  marble, — but  sadly  often  it  was 
ice  j  and  I  knew  that  after  it  had  shone  a  little,  and 
frozen  a  few  eyes  with  its  despairing  perfection,  it 


120  PRUE    AND    I. 

could  not  be  put  away  in  the  niches  of  palaces  for 
ornament  and  proud  family  tradition,  like  the  ala 
baster,  or  bronze,  or  marble  statues,  but  would 
melt,  and  shrink,  and  fall  coldly  away  in  colorless 
and  useless  water,  be  absorbed  in  the  earth  and  ut 
terly  forgotten. 

"  But  the  true  sadness  was  rather  in  seeing  those 
who,  not  having  the  spectacles,  thought  that  the 
iron  rod  was  flexible,  and  the  ice  statue  warm.  I 
saw  many  a  gallant  heart,  which  seemed  to  me  brave 
and  loyal  as  the  crusaders,  pursuing,  through  days 
and  nights,  and  a  long  life  of  devotion,  the  hope  of 
lighting  at  least  a  smile  in  the  cold  eyes,  if  not 
a  fire  in  the  icy  heart.  I  watched  the  earnest,  en 
thusiastic  sacrifice.  I  saw  the  pure  resolve,  the 
generous  faith,  the  fine  scorn  of  doubt,  the  impa 
tience  of  suspicion.  I  wratched  the  grace,  the  ardor, 
the  glory  of  devotion.  Through  those  strange  spec 
tacles  how  often  I  saw  the  noblest  heart  renouncing 
all  other  hope,  all  other  ambition,  all  other  life,  than 
the  possible  love  of  some  one  of  those  statues. 

"  Ah !  me,  it  was  terrible,  but  they  had  not  the 
love  to  give.  The  face  was  so  polished  and  smooth, 
because  there  was  no  sorrow  in  the  heart, — and 
drearily,  often,  no  heart  to  be  touched.  I  could 
not  wonder  that  the  noble  heart  of  devotion  waa 
b  oken,  for  it  had  dashed  itself  against  a  stone.  J 


TJTBOTTOM  S  SPECTACLES.       121 

wept,  until  my  spectacles  were  dimmed,  for  those 
hopeless  lovers  ;  but  there  was  a  pang  beyond  tears 
for  those  icy  statues. 

"  Still  a  boy,  I  was  thus  too  much  a  man  in 
knowledge, — I  did  not  comprehend  the  sights  I  wa 
compelled  to  see.  I  used  to  tear  my  glasses  away 
from  my  eyes,  and,  frightened  at  myself,  run  to 
escape  my  own  consciousness.  Reaching  the  small 
house  where  we  then  lived,  I  plunged  into  my 
grandmother's  room,  and,  throwing  myself  upon 
the  floor,  buried  my  face  in  her  lap ;  and  sobbed 
myself  to  sleep  with  premature  grief. 

"  But  when  I  awakened,  and  felt  her  cool  hand 
upon  my  hot  forehead,  and  heard  the  low  sweet 
song,  or  the  gentle  story,  or  the  tenderly  told 
parable  from  the  Bible,  with  which  she  tried  to 
soothe  me,  I  could  not  resist  the  mystic  fascination 
that  lured  me,  as  I  lay  in  her  lap,  to  steal  a  glance 
at  her  through  the  spectacles. 

"  Pictures  of  the  Madonna  have  not  her  rare  and 
pensive  beauty.  Upon  the  tranquil  little  islands 
her  life  had  been  eventless,  and  all  the  fine  possi 
bilities  of  her  nature  were  like  flowers  that  never 
bloomed.  Placid  were  all  her  years ;  yet  I  have 
read  of  no  heroine,  of  no  woman  great  in  sudden 
crises,  that  it  did  not  seem  to  me  she  might  have 

been.     The  wife  and  widow  of  a  man  who   loved 
G 


122  PRUE    AND    I. 

his  home  better  than  the  homes  of  others,  I  have 
yet  heard  of  no  queen,  no  belle,  no  imperial  beauty, 
whom  in  grace,  and  brilliancy,  and  persuasive  cour 
tesy,  she  might  not  have  surpassed. 

"  Madam,"  said  Titbottom  to  my  wife,  whose 
heart  hung  upon  his  story  ;  "  your  husband's  young 
friend,  Aurelia,  wears  sometimes  a  camelia  in  her 
hair,  and  no  diamond  in  the  ball-room  seems  so 
costly  as  that  perfect  flower,  which  women  envy, 
and  for  whose  least  and  withered  petal  men  sigh ; 
yet,  in  the  tropical  solitudes  of  Brazil,  how  many  a 
camelia  bud  drops  from  the  bush  that  no  eye  has 
ever  seen,  which,  had  it  flowered  and  been  noticed, 
would  have  gilded  all  hearts  with  its  memory. 

"  When  I  stole  these  furtive  glances  at  my  grand 
mother,  half  fearing  that  they  were  wrong,  I  saw 
only  a  calm  lake,  whose  shores  were  low,  and  over 
which  the  sun  hung  unbroken,  so  that  the  least  star 
was  clearly  reflected.  It  had  an  atmosphere  of 
solemn  twilight  tranquillity,  and  so  completely  did 
its  unruffled  surface  blend  with  the  cloudless,  star- 
studded  sky,  that,  when  I  looked  through  my  spec 
tacles  at  my  grandmother,  the  vision  seemed  to  me 
all  heaven  and  stars. 

"  Yet,  as  I  gazed  and  gazed,  I  felt  what  stately 
cities  might  well  have  been  built  upon  those  shores, 
and  have  flashed  prosperity  over  the  calm,  lib:) 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  J  23 

coruscations  of  pearls.  I  dreamed  of  gorgeous  fleets, 
silken-sailed,  and  blown  by  perfumed  winds,  drift 
ing  over  those  depthless  waters  and  through  those 
spacious  skies.  I  gazed  upon  the  twilight,  the 
inscrutable  silence,  like  a  God-fearing  discoverer 
upon  a  new  and  vast  sea  bursting  upon  him  through 
forest  glooms,  and  in  the  fervor  of  whose  impas 
sioned  gaze,  a  millenial  and  poetic  world  arises,  and 
man  need  no  longer  die  to  be  happy. 

"  My  companions  naturally  deserted  me,  for  I 
had  grown  wearily  grave  and  abstracted :  and, 
unable  to  resist  the  allurements  of  my  spectacles, 
I  was  constantly  lost  in  the  world,  of  which  those 
companions  were  part,  yet  of  which  they  knew 
nothing. 

"  I  grew  cold  and  hard,  almost  morose ;  people 
seemed  to  me  so  blind  and  unreasonable.  They 
did  the  wrong  thing.  They  called  green,  yellow; 
and  black,  white.  Young  men  said  of  a  girl,  '  What 
a  lovely,  simple  creature!'  I  looked,  and  there 
was  only  a  glistening  wisp  of  straw,  dry  and  hol 
low.  Or  they  said,  'What  a  cold,  proud  beauty!' 
I  looked,  and  lo  !  a  Madonna,  whose  heart  held  the 
world.  Or  they  said,  '  What  a  wild,  giddy  girl !' 
and  I  saw  a  glancing,  dancing  mountain  stream, 
pure  as  the  virgin  snows  whence  it  flowed,  singing 
through  sun  and  shade,  over  pearls  and  gold  dust, 


124  PRUE    AND    I. 

slipping  along  unstained  by  weed  or  rain,  or  heavy 
foot  of  cattle,  touching  the  flowers  with  a  dewy 
kiss, — a  beam  of  grace,  a  happy  song,  a  line  of 
light,  iu  the  dim  and  troubled  landscape. 

<;  My  grandmother  sent  me  to  school,  but  I 
looked  at  the  master,  and  saw  that  he  was  a  smooth 
round  ferule,  or  an  improper  noun,  or  a  vulgar  frac 
tion,  and  refused  to  obey  him.  Or  he  was  a  piece 
of  string,  a  rag,  a  willow-wand,  and  I  had  a  con 
temptuous  pity.  But  one  was  a  well  of  cool,  deep 
water,  and  looking  suddenly  in,  one  day,  I  saw  the 
stars. 

'•  That  one  gave  me  all  my  schooling.  With  him 
I  used  to  walk  by  the  sea,  and,  as  we  strolled  and 
the  waves  plunged  in  long  legions  before  us,  1 
looked  at  him  through  the  spectacles,  and  as  his 
eyes  dilated  with  the  boundless  view,  and  his  chest 
heaved  with  an  impossible  desire,  I  saw  Xerxes  and 
his  army,  tossed  and  glittering,  rank  upon  rank,  multi 
tude  upon  multitude,  out  of  sight,  but  ever  regular 
ly  advancing,  and  with  confused  roar  of  ceaseless 
music,  prostrating  themselves  in  abject  homage. 
Or,  as  with  arms  outstretched  and  hair  streaming 
on  the  wind,  he  chanted  full  lines  of  the  resounding 
Iliad,  I  saw  Homer  pacing  the  Egean  sands  of  the 
Greek  sunsets  of  forgotten  times. 

"  My  grandmother  died,  and  I  was  thrown  into 


TIT  BOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  125 

the  world  without  resources,  and  with  no  capita] 
but  my  spectacles.  I  tried  to  find  employment,  but 
everybody  was  shy  of  me.  There  was  a  vague 
suspicion  that  I  was  either  a  little  crazed,  or  a  good 
deal  in  league  with  the  prince  of  darkness.  My 
companions,  who  would  persist  in  calling  a  piece 
of  painted  muslin,  a  fair  and  fragrant  flower,  had  no 
difficulty  ;  success  waited  for  them  around  every 
corner,  and  arrived  in  every  ship. 

"  I  tried  to  teach,  for  I  loved  children.  But  if 
anything  excited  a  suspicion  of  my  pupils,  and 
putting  on  my  spectacles,  I  saw  that  I  was  fondling 
a  snake,  or  smelling  at  a  bud  with  a  worm  in  it,  I 
sprang  up  in  horror  and  ran  away  ;  or,  if  it  seemed 
to  me  through  the  glasses,  that  a  cherub  smiled 
upon  me,  or  a  rose  was  blooming  in  my  button 
hole,  then  I  felt  myself  imperfect  and  impure,  not 
fit  to  be  leading  and  training  what  was  so  essential 
ly  superior  to  myself,  and  I  kissed  the  children  and 
left  them  weeping  and  wondering. 

"  In  despair  I  went  to  a  great  merchant  on  the 
island,  and  asked  him  to  employ  me. 

"  'My  dear  young  friend,'  said  he,  '  I  understand 
that  you  have  some  singular  secret,  some  charm,  or 
spell,  or  amulet,  or  something,  I  don't  know  what 
of  which  people  are  afraid.     Now  you  know,  my 
dear,'  said  the  merchant,  swelling  up,  and  apparent- 


li>6  PKUEANDI. 

ly  prouder  of  his  great  stomach  than  of  his  largo 
fortune,  '  I  am  not  of  that  kind.  I  am  not  easily 
frightened.  You  may  spare  yourself  the  pain  of 
trying  to  impose  upon  me.  People  who  propose  to 
come  to  time  before  I  arrive,  are  accustomed  to 
arise  very  early  in  the  morning,'  said  he,  thrusting 
his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  and 
spreading  the  fingers  like  two  fans,  upon  his  bosom. 
'I  think  I  have  heard  something  of  your  secret. 
You  have  a  pair  of  spectacles,  I  believe,  that  you 
value  very  much,  because  your  grandmother  brought 
them  as  a  marriage  portion  to  your  grandfather. 
Now,  if  you  think  fit  to  sell  me  those  spectacles,  I 
will  pay  you  the  largest  market  price  for  them. 
What  do  you  say?' 

"  I  told  him  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  sell 
ing  my  spectacles. 

"  *  My  young  friend  means  to  eat  them,  I  sup 
pose,'  said  he,  with  a  contemptuous  smile. 

"  I  made  no  reply,  but  was  turning  to  leave  the 
office,  when  the  merchant  called  after  me — 

"  '  My  young  friend,  poor  people  should  never 
suffer  themselves  to  get  into  pets.  Anger  is  an  ex 
pensive  luxury,  in  which  only  men  of  a  certain  in 
come  can  indulge.  A  pair  of  spectacles  and  a  hot 
temper  are  not  the  most  promising  capital  for  suc 
cess  in  life,  Master  Titbottom.' 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  127 

"  1  said  nothing,  but  put  my  hand  upon  the  doo* 
to  go  out,  when  the  merchant  said,  more  respect 
fully — 

"  '  Well,  you  foolish  boy,  if  you  will  not  sell  your 
spectacles,  perhaps  you  will  agree  to  sell  the  use  ol 
them  to  me.  That  is,  you  shall  only  put  them  on 
when  I  direct  you,  and  for  my  purposes.  Hallo  ! 
you  little  fool !'  cried  he,  impatiently,  as  he  saw 
that  I  intended  to  make  no  reply. 

"  But  I  had  pulled  out  my  spectacles  arid  put 
them  on  for  my  own  purposes,  and  against  his  wish 
and  desire.  I  looked  at  him,  and  saw  a  huge,  bald- 
headed  wild  boar,  with  gross  chaps  and  a  leering 
eye — only  the  more  ridiculous  for  the  high-arched, 
gold-bowed  spectacles,  that  straddled  his  nose. 
One  of  his  fore-hoofs  was  thrust  into  the  safe,  where 
his  bills  receivable  were  hived,  and  the  other  into 
his  pocket,  among  the  loose  change  and  bills  there. 
His  ears  were  pricked  forward  with  a  brisk,  sensi 
tive  smartness.  In  a  world  wrhere  prize  pork  was 
the  best  excellence,  he  would  have  carried  off  all 
the  premiums. 

"  I  stepped  into  the  next  office  in  the  street,  and 
a  mild-faced,  genial  man,  also  a  large  and  opulent 
merchant,  asked  me  my  business  in  such  a  tone, 
that  I  instantly  looked  through  my  spectacles,  and 
saw  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey.  There  I 


JS8  P  RUE    AND    I. 

pitched  my  tent,  and  staid  till  the  good  man  died 
and  his  business  was  discontinued. 

"  But  while  there,"  said  Titbottom,  and  his  voice 
trembled  away  into  a  sigh,  "  I  first  saw  Preciosa. 
Despite  the  spectacles,  I  saw  Preciosa.  For  days, 
or  weeks,  for  months,  I  did  not  take  my  spectacles 
with  me.  I  ran  away  from  them,  I  threw  them  up 
on  high  shelves,  I  tried  to  make  up  my  mind  to 
throw  them  into  the  sea,  or  down  the  well.  I  could 
not,  I  would  not,  I  dared  not,  look  at  Preciosa  through 
the  spectacles.  It  was  not  possible  for  me  deliber 
ately  to  destroy  them  ;  but  I  awoke  in  the  night, 
and  could  almost  have  cursed  my  dear  old  grand 
father  for  his  gift. 

"I  sometimes  escaped  from  the  office,  and  sat  foi 
whole  days  with  Preciosa.  I  told  her  the  strange 
things  I  had  seen  with  my  mystic  glasses.  The 
hours  were  not  enough  for  the  wild  romances  which 
1  raved  in  her  ear.  She  listened,  astonished  and 
appalled.  Her  blue  eyes  turned  upon  me  with 
sweet  deprecation.  She  clung  to  me,  and  then 
withdrew,  and  fled  fearfully  from  the  room. 

"  But  she  could  not  stay  away.  She  could  not 
resist  my  voice,  in  whose  tones  burnt  all  the  love 
that  filled  my  heart  and  brain.  The  very  effort  to 
TBsist  the  desire  of  seeing  her  as  I  saw  everybody 
else,  gave  a  frenzy  and  an  unnatural  tension  to  my 


TITUOTTOM'S  SPECTACLES.       129 

feeling  and  my  manner.  I  sat  by  her  side,  looking 
into  her  eyes,  smoothing  her  hair,  folding  her  to  my 
heart,  wThich  was  sunken  deep  and  deep — why  not 
for  ever  ? — in  that  dream  of  peace.  I  ran  from  her 
presence,  and  shouted,  and  leaped  with  joy,  and  sai 
the  whole  night  through,  thrilled  into  happiness  by 
the  thought  of  her  love  and  loveliness,  like  a  wind- 
harp,  tightly  strung,  and  answering  the  airiest  sigh 
of  the  breeze  with  music. 

"  Then  came  calmer  days — the  conviction  of  deep 
love  settled  upon  our  lives — as  after  the  hurrying, 
heaving  days  of  spring,  comes  the  bland  and  be 
nignant  summer. 

"'It  is  no  dream,  then,  after  all,  and  we  are 
happy,'  I  said  to  her,  one  day  ;  and  there  came  nc 
answer,  for  happiness  is  speechless. 

"  « We  are  happy,  then,'  I  said  to  myself,  '  there 
is  no  excitement  now.  How  glad  I  am  that  I  can 
now  look  at  her  through  my  spectacles.' 

"  I  feared  least  some  instinct  should  warn  me  to 
beware.  I  escaped  from  her  arms,  and  ran  home 
and  seized  the  glasses,  and  bounded  back  again  to 
Preciosa.  As  I  entered  the  room  I  was  heated,  my 
head  was  swimming  with  confused  apprehensions 
my  eyes  must  have  glared.  Preciosa  was  fright 
ened,  and  rising  from  her  seat,  stood  with  an  inquir 

ing  glance  of  surprise  in  her  eyes. 
6* 


130  P  RUE    AND    I. 

"  But  I  was  bent  with  frenzy  upon  my  purpose, 
I  was  merely  aware  that  she  was  in  the  room.  I 
saw  nothing  else.  I  heard  nothing.  I  cared  for 
nothing,  but  to  see  her  through  that  magic  glass, 
and  feel  at  once  all  the  fulness  of  blissful  perfection 
which  that  would  reveal.  Preciosa  stood  before  the 
mirror,  but  alarmed  at  my  wild  and  eager  move 
ments,  unable  to  distinguish  what  I  had  in  my 
hands,  and  seeing  me  raise  them  suddenly  to  my 
foce,  she  shrieked  with  terror,  and  fell  fainting  upon 
the  floor,  at  the  very  moment  that  I  placed  the 
glasses  before  my  eyes,  and  beheld — myself,  re 
flected  in  the  mirror,  before  which  she  had  been 
standing. 

"  Dear  madam,"  cried  Titbottom,  to  my  wife, 
springing  up  and  falling  back  again  in  his  chair, 
pale  and  trembling,  while  Prue  ran  to  him  and  took 
his  hand,  and  I  poured  out  a  glass  of  water — "  I  saw 
myself." 

There  was  silence  for  many  minutes.  Prue  laid 
her  hand  gently  upon  the  head  of  our  guest,  whose 
eyes  were  closed,  and  who  breathed  softly  like  an 
infant  in  sleeping.  Perhaps,  in  all  the  long  years  of 
anguish  since  that  hour,  no  tender  hand  had  touched 
his  brow,  nor  wiped  away  the  damps  of  a  bitter  sor 
row.  Perhaps  the  tender,  maternal  fingers  of  my 
wife  soothed  his  weary  head  with  the  conviction 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES  131 

that  he  felt  the  hand  of  his  mother  playing  with  the 
long  hair  of  her  boy  in  the  soft  West  India  morning. 
Perhaps  it  was  only  the  natural  relief  of  expressing 
a  pent-up  sorrow. 

When  he  spoke  again,  it  was  with  the  old  sub 
dued  tone,  and  the  air  of  quaint  solemnity. 

"  These  things  were  matters  of  long,  long  ago, 
and  I  came  to  this  country  soon  after.  I  brought 
with  me,  premature  age,  a  past  of  melancholy  me 
mories,  and  the  magic  spectacles.  I  had  become 
their  slave.  I  had  nothing  more  to  fear.  Having 
seen  myself,  I  was  compelled  to  see  others,  properly 
to  understand  my  relations  to  them.  The  lights  that 
cheer  the  future  of  other  men  had  gone  out  for  me ; 
my  eyes  were  those  of  an  exile  turned  backwards 
upon  the  receding  shore,  and  not  forwards  with  hope 
upon  the  ocean. 

"  I  mingled  with  men,  but  with  little  pleasure. 
There  are  but  many  varieties  of  a  few  types.  I  did 
not  find  those  I  came  to  clearer-sighted  that  those  I 
had  left  behind.  I  heard  men  called  shrewd  and 
wise,  and  report  said  they  were  highly  intelligent 
and  successful.  My  finest  sense  detected  no  aroma, 
of  purity  and  principle  ;  but  I  saw  only  a  fungus 
that  had  fattened  and  spread  in  a  night.  They  went 
to  the  theatres  to  see  actors  upon  the  stage.  I  went 
to  see  actors  in  the  boxes,  so  consummately  cunning, 


132  PRUE    AND    I. 

that  others  did  not  know  they  were  acting,  and  they 
did  not  suspect  it  themselves. 

"  Perhaps  you  wonder  it  did  not  make  me  misan 
thropical.  My  dear  friends,  do  not  forget  that  1 
had  seen  myself.  That  made  me  compassionate  not 
cynical. 

"  Of  course,  I  could  not  value  highly  the  ordinary 
standards  of  success  and  excellence.  When  I  went 
to  church  and  saw  a  thin,  blue,  artificial  flower,  or 
a  great  sleepy  cushion  expounding  the  beauty  of 
holiness  to  pews  full  of  eagles,  half-eagles,  and  three 
pences,  however  adroitly  concealed  they  might  be  in 
broadcloth  and  boots  :  or  saw  an  onion  in  an  Easter 
bonnet  weeping  over  the  sins  of  Magdalen,  I  did  not 
feel  as  they  felt  who  saw  in  all  this,  not  only  pro 
priety  but  piety. 

"  Or  when  at  public  meetings  an  eel  stood  up  on 
end,  and  wriggled  and  squirmed  lithely  in  every 
direction,  and  declared  that,  for  his  part,  he  went  in 
for  rainbows  and  hot  water — how  could  I  help  see 
ing  that  he  was  still  black  and  loved  a  slimy  pool  ? 

"  I  could  not  grow  misanthropical  when  I  saw 
in  the  eyes  of  so  many  who  were  called  old,  the 
gushing  fountains  of  eternal  youth,  and  the  light  of 
an  immortal  dawn,  or  when  I  saw  those  who  were 
esteemed  unsuccessful  and  aimless,  ruling  a  fair  realm 
of  peace  and  plenty,  either  in  their  own  hearts,  01 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  133 

in  another's — a  realm  and  princely  possession  for 
which  they  had  well  renounced  a  hopeless  search 
and  a  belated  triumph 

"  I  knew  one  man  who  had  been  for  years  a  by 
word  for  having  sought  the  philosopher's  stone.  But 
1  looked  at  him  through  the  spectacles  and  saw  a 
satisfaction  in  concentrated  energies,  and  a  tenacity 
arising  from  devotion  to  a  noble  dream  which  was 
not  apparent  in  the  youths  who  pitied  him  in  the 
aimless  effeminacy  of  clubs,  nor  in  the  clever  gen 
tlemen  who  cracked  their  thin  jokes  upon  him  over 
a  gossiping  dinner. 

"  And  there  was  your  neighbor  over  the  way, 
who  passes  for  a  woman  who  has  failed  in  her  career, 
because  she  is  an  old  maid.  People  wag  solemn 
heads  of  pity,  and  say  that  she  made  so  great  a  mis 
take  in  not  marrying  the  brilliant  and  famous  man 
who  was  for  long  years  her  suitor.  It  is  clear  that 
no  orange  flower  will  ever  bloom  for  her.  The 
young  people  make  their  tender  romances  about  her 
as  they  watch  her,  and  think  of  her  solitary  hours  of 
bitter  regret  and  wasting  longing,  never  to  be  satis 
fied. 

"  When  I  first  came  to  town  I  shared  this  sympa 
thy,  and  pleased  my  imagination  with  fancying  her 
hard  struggle  with  the  conviction  that  she  had  lost 
all  that  made  life  beautiful.  I  supposed  that  if  1  had 


i  34  PRUEANDI. 

looked  at  her  through  my  spectacles,  I  should  see 
that  it  was  o  ily  her  radiant  temper  which  so  illu 
minated  hei  dress,  that  we  did  not  see  it  to  be  heavy 
sables. 

"  But  when,  one  day,  I  did  raise  my  glasses,  and 
glanced  at  her,  I  did  not  see  the  old  maid  whom 
we  all  pitied  for  a  secret  sorrow,  but  a  woman 
whose  nature  was  a  tropic,  in  which  the  sun  shone, 
and  birds  sang,  and  flowers  bloomed  for  ever. 
There  were  no  regrets,  no  doubts  and  half  wishes, 
but  a  calm  sweetness,  a  transparent  peace.  I  saw 
her  blush  when  that  old  lover  passed  by,  or  paused 
to  speak  to  her,  but  it  was  only  the  sign  of  delicate 
feminine  consciousness.  She  knew  his  love,  and 
honored  it,  although  she  could  not  understand  it 
nor  return  it.  I  looked  closely  at  her,  and  I  saw 
that  although  all  the  world  had  exclaimed  at  her 
indifference  to  such  homage,  and  had  declared 
it  was  astonishing  she  should  lose  so  fine  a  match, 
she  would  only  say  simply  and  quietly — 

"  '  If  Shakespeare  loved  me  and  I  did  not  love 
him,  how  could  I  marry  him  ?' 

"  Could  I  be  misanthropical  when  I  saw  such 
fidelity,  and  dignity,  and  simplicity  ? 

"  You  may  believe  that  I  was  especially  curious 
to  look  at  that  old  lover  of  hers,  through  my  glasses 
fie  was  no  longer  young,  you  know,  when  I  came, 


TITBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES. 

and  his  fame  and  fortune  were  secure.  Certainly  I 
have  heard  of  few  men  more  beloved,  and  of  none 
more  worthy  to  be  loved.  He  had  the  easy  manner 
of  a  man  of  the  world,  the  sensitive  grace  of  a  poet, 
and  the  charitable  judgment  of  a  wide-traveller, 
lie  was  accounted  the  most  successful  and  most 
unspoiled  of  men.  Handsome,  brilliant,  wise,  ten 
der,  graceful,  accomplished,  rich,  and  famous,  I 
looked  at  him,  without  the  spectacles,  in  surprise, 
and  admiration,  arid  wondered  how  your  neighbor 
over  the  way  had  been  so  entirely  untouched  by 
his  homage.  I  watched  their  intercourse  in  society, 
I  saw  her  gay  smile,  her  cordial  greeting ;  I  marked 
his  frank  address,  his  lofty  courtesy.  Their  manner 
told  no  tales.  The  eager  world  was  baulked,  arid  I 
pulled  out  my  spectacles. 

<:  I  had  seen  her  already,  and  now  I  saw  him. 
He  lived  only  in  memory,  and  his  memory  was  a 
spacious  and  stately  palace.  But  he  did  not  often- 
est  frequent  the  banqueting  hall,  where  were  end 
less  hospita  ity  and  feasting, — nor  did  he  loiter 
much  in  the  reception  rooms,  where  a  throng  01 
new  visitors  was  for  ever  swarming, — nor  did  he 
feed  his  vanity  by  haunting  the  apartment  in  which 
were  stored  the  trophies  of  his  varied  triumphs, — 
nor  dream  much  in  the  great  gallery  hung  with 
pictures  of  his  travels. 


i.^6  PRUE   AND   1. 

"  From  all  these  lofty  halls  of  memory  he  con 
stantly  escaped  to  a  remote  ar.d  solitary  chamber, 
into  which  no  one  had  ever  penetrated.  But  my 
fatal  eyes,  behind  the  glasses,  followed  and  entered 
with  him,  and  saw  that  the  chamber  was  a  chapel. 
It  wTas  dim,  and  silent,  and  sweet  with  perpetual 
incense  that  burned  upon  an  altar  before  a  picture 
forever  veiled.  There,  whenever  I  chanced  to  look, 
I  saw  him  kneel  and  pray ;  and  there,  by  day  and 
by  night,  a  funeral  hymn  was  chanted. 

"I  do  not  believe  you  will  be  surprised  that  I 
have  been  content  to  remain  a  deputy  book-keeper. 
My  spectacles  regulated  my  ambition,  and  I  early 
learned  that  there  were  better  gods  than  Plutus. 
The  glasses  have  lost  much  of  their  fascination  now, 
and  I  do  not  often  use  them.  But  sometimes  the 
desire  is  irresistible.  Whenever  I  am  greatly  in 
terested,  I  am  compelled  to  take  them  out  and  see 
what  it  is  that  I  admire. 

"And  yet — and  yet,"  said  Titbottom,  after  a 
pause,  "  I  am  not  sure  that  I  thank  my  grand 
father." 

Prue  had  long  since  laid  away  her  work,  and  had 
heard  every  word  of  the  story.  I  saw  that  the 
dear  woman  had  yet  one  question  to  ask,  and  had 
been  earnestly  hoping  to  hear  something  that 
would  spare  her  the  necessity  of  asking.  But  Tit- 


TJTBOTTOM'S    SPECTACLES.  137 

bottom  had  resumed  his  usual  tone,  after  the  mo 
mentary  excitement,  and  made  no  further  allusion 
to  himself.  We  all  sat  silently ;  Titbottom's  eyes 
fastened  musingly  upon  the  carpet,  Prue  looking 
\\istfully  at  him,  and  I  regarding  both. 

It  was  past  midnight,  and  our  guest  arose  to  go. 
He  shook  hands  quietly,  made  his  grave  Spanish 
bow  to  Prue,  and,  taking  his  hat,  went  towards  the 
front  door.  Prue  and  I  accompanied  him.  I  saw 
in  her  eyes  that  she  would  ask  her  question,  And 
as  Titbottom  opened  the  door,  I  heard  the  low 
words : 

"And  Preciosa?" 

Titbottom  paused.  He  had  just  opened  the  door, 
and  the  moonlight  streamed  over  him  as  he  stood 
turning  back  to  us. 

"  I  have  seen  her  but  once  since.  It  was  in 
church,  and  she  was  kneeling,  with  her  eyes  closed, 
so  that  she  did  not  see  me.  But  I  rubbed  the 
glasses  well,  and  looked  at  her,  and  saw  a  white 
lily,  whose  stem  was  broken,  but  which  was  fresh, 
and  luminous,  and  fragrant  still.'"1 

"  That  was  a  miracle,"  interrupted  Prue. 

"Madam,  it  was  a  miracle,"  replied  Titbottom, 
il  and  for  that  one  sight  I  am  devoutly  grateful  for 
my  grandfather's  gift.  I  saw,  that  although  a 
flower  may  have  lost  its  hold  upon  earthly  moist- 


138  PRUE    AND    I 

ure,  it  may  still  bloom  as  sweetly,  fed  by  the  dews 
of  heaven." 

The  door  closed,  and  he  was  gone.  But  as  Prue 
put  her  arm  in  mine,  and  we  went  up  stairs  together, 
she  whispered  in  my  ear : 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  you  don't  wear  spectacles." 


A  CRUISE  IN  THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN. 


"  When  I  sailed  :  when  I  sailed." 

Ballad  of  Robert  Kidd. 


4  CRUISE  IN  THE   FLYING  DUTCHMAN, 

"  When  I  sailed  :  when  I  sailed/' 

Ballad  of  Robert  Kidd. 

WITH  the  opening  of  spring  my  heart  opens.  My 
fancy  expands  with  the  flowers,  and,  as  I  walk  down 
town  in  the  May  morning,  toward  the  dingy  count 
ing-room,  and  the  old  routine,  you  would  hardly 
believe  that  I  would  not  change  my  feelings  for 
those  of  the  French  Barber-Poet  Jasmin,  who  goes, 
merrily  singing,  to  his  shaving  and  hair  cutting. 

The  first  warm  day  puts  the  whole  winter  to 
flight.  It  stands  in  front  of  the  summer  like  a  young 
warrior  before  his  host,  and,  single-handed,  defies 
and  destroys  its  remorseless  enemy. 

I  throw  up  the  chamber-window,  to  breathe  the 
earliest  breath  of  summer. 

"The  brave  young  David  has  hit  old  Goliah 
square  in  the  forehead  this  morning,"  I  say  to 
Prue,  as  I  lean  out,  and  bathe  in  the  soft  sunshine. 

My  wife  is  tying  on  her  cap  at  the  glass,  and.  not 
quite  disentangled  from  her  dreams,  thinks  I  am 
speaking  of  a  street-brawl,  and  replies  that  I  had 
better  take  care  of  my  own  head. 


742  PKUE    AND    I 

"  Since  you  have  charge  of  my  heart,  I  suppose  " 
I  answer  gaily,  turning  round  to  make  her  one  of 
Titbottom's  bows. 

"  But  seriously,  Prue,  how  is  it  about  my  sum 
mer  wardrobe?" 

Prue  smiles,  and  tells  me  we  shall  have  two 
months  of  winter  yet,  and  I  had  better  stop  and 
order  some  more  coal  as  I  go  down  town. 

u  Winter— coal !" 

Then  I  step  back,  and  taking  her  by  the  arm, 
lead  her  to  the  window.  I  throw  it  open  even 
wider  than  before.  The  sunlight  streams  on  the 
great  church-towers  opposite,  and  the  trees  in  the 
neighboring  square  glisten,  and  wave  their  boughs 
gently,  as  if  they  would  burst  into  leaf  before  din 
ner.  Cages  are  hung  at  the  open  chamber-windows 
in  the  street,  and  the  birds,  touched  into  song  by 
the  sun,  make  Memnon  true.  Prue's  purple  and 
white  hyacinths  are  in  full  blossom,  and  perfume 
the  warm  air,  so  that  the  canaries  and  the  mock 
ing  birds  are  no  longer  aliens  in  the  city  streets, 
but  are  once  more  swinging  in  their  spicy  native 
groves. 

A  soft  wind  blows  upon  us  as  we  stand,  listening 
and  looking.  Cuba  and  the  Tropics  are  in  the  air. 
The  drowsy  tune  of  a  hand-organ  rises  from  the 
square,  and  Italy  comes  singing  in  upon  the  sound. 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING  DUTCHMAN.    143 

My  triumphant  eyes  meet  Prue's  They  are  full  of 
sweetness  and  spring. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  summer-wardrobe 
now?"  I  ask,  arid  we  go  down  to  breakfast. 

But  the  air  has  magic  in  it,  and  I  do  not  cease  to 
dream.  If  I  meet  Charles,  who  is  bound  for  Ala 
bama,  or  John,  who  sails  for  Savannah,  with  a 
trunk  full  of  white  jackets,  I  do  not  say  to  them,  as 
their  other  friends  say, — 

*4  Happy  travellers,  who  cut  March  and  April 
out  of  the  dismal  year  !" 

I  do  not  envy  them.  They  will  be  sea-sick  on  the 
way.  The  southern  winds  will  blow  all  the  water 
out  of  the  rivers,  and,  desolately  stranded  upon  mud, 
they  will  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  interval  by  tying 
with  large  ropes  a  young  gentleman  raving  with 
delirium  tremens.  They  will  hurry  along,  appalled 
by  forests  blazing  in  the  windy  night ;  and,  housed 
in  a  bad  inn,  they  will  find  themselves  anxiously 
asking,  "Are  the  cars  punctual  in  leaving?" — 
grimly  sure  that  impatient  travellers  find  all  con 
veyances  too  slow.  The  travellers  are  very  warm, 
indeed,  even  in  March  and  April, — but  Prue  doubts 
if  it  is  altogether  the  effect  of  the  southern  climate, 

Why  should  they  go  to  the  South  ?  If  they  only 
wuit  a  little,  the  South  will  come  to  them-  Savan 
nah  arrives  in  April ;  Florida  in  May;  Cuba  and  the 


144  PRUE    AND    I. 

Gulf  come  in  with  June,  and  the  full  splendor  of 
the  Tropics  burns  through  July  and  August.  Sit 
ting  upon  the  earth,  do  we  not  glide  by  all  the  con 
stellations,  all  the  awful  stars?  Does  not  the  flash 
of  Orion's  scimeter  dazzle  as  we  pass  ?  Do  we  not 
hear,  as  we  gaze  in  hushed  midnights, 'the  music  of 
the  Lyre  ;  are  we  not  throned  with  Cassiopea  ;  do 
we  not  play  with  the  tangles  of  Berenice's  hair,  as 
we  sail,  as  we  sail  ? 

When  Christopher  told  me  that  he  was  going  to 
Italy,  I  went  into  Bourne's  conservatory,  saw  a 
magnolia,  and  so  reached  Italy  before  him.  Can 
Christopher  bring  Italy  home?  But  I  brought  to 
Prue  a  branch  of  magnolia  blossoms,  with  Mr. 
Bourne's  kindest  regards,  and  she  put  them  upon 
her  table,  and  our  little  house  smelled  of  Italy  for  a 
week  afterward.  The  incident  developed  Prue's 
Italian  tastes,  which  I  had  not  suspected  to  be  so 
strong.  I  found  her  looking  very  often  at  the  mag 
nolias  ;  even  holding  them  in  her  hand,  and  standing 
before  the  table  with  a  pensive  air.  I  suppose  she 
was  thinking  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  or  of  Tasso  and 
Leonora,  or  of  the  wife  of  Marino  Faliero,  or  of  some 
other  of  those  sad  old  Italian  tales  of  love  and  woe 
So  easily  Prue  went  to  Italy ! 

Thus  the  spring  comes  in  my  heart  as  well  as  irj 
the  air,  and  leaps  along  my  veins  as  well  as  through 


A    CltmSE    IN    THE    FLYING    DUTCHMAN.     145 

the  trees.  I  immediately  travel.  An  orange  takes 
rne  to  Sorrento,  and  roses,  when  they  blow,  to  Pass- 
turn.  The  camelias  in  Aurelia's  hair  bring  Brazil 
into  the  happy  rooms  she  treads,  and  she  takes  me 
to  South  America  as  she  goes  to  dinner.  The  pearls 
upon  her  neck  make  me  free  of  the  Persian  gulf 
Upon  her  shawl,  like  the  Arabian  prince  upon  his 
carpet,  I  am  transported  to  the  vales  of  Cashmere  ; 
and  thus,  as  I  daily  w^alk  in  the  bright  spring  days, 
I  go  round  the  world. 

But  the  season  wakes  a  finer  longing,  a  desire  that 
could  only  be  satisfied  if  the  pavilions  of  the  clouds 
were  real,  and  I  could  stroll  among  the  towering 
splendors  of  a  sultry  spring  evening.  Ah  !  if  I  could 
leap  those  flaming  battlements  that  glow  along  the 
west — if  I  could  tread  those  cool,  dewy,  serene 
isles  of  sunset,  and  sink  with  them  in  the  sea  of 
stars. 

I  say  so  to  Prue,  and  my  wife  smiles. 

"  But  why  is  it  so  impossible,"  I  ask,  "if  you  go 
to  Italy  upon  a  magnolia  branch  ?" 

The  smile  fades  from  her  eyes. 

"I  went  a  shorter  voyage  than  that,"  she  answer 
ed  ,  "it  was  only  to  Mr.  Bourne's." 

I  walked  slowly  out  of  the  house,  and  overtook 
Tit\)ottom  as  I  went.  He  smiled  gravely  as  he 
greeted  me  and  said  : 


PRUF    AND    I 

4  I  have  been  asked  to  invite  you  to  join  a  littlfl 
pleasure  party." 

"Where  is  it  going?" 

"  Oh  !  anywhere,"  answered  Titbottom. 

"And  how?" 

"  Oh  !  anyhow,"  he  replied. 

"  You  mean  that  everybody  is  to  go  wherever  he 
pleases,  and  in  the  way  he  best  can.  My  dear  Tit- 
bottom,  I  have  long  belonged  to  that  pleasure  party, 
although  I  never  heard  it  called  by  so  pleasant  a 
name  before." 

My  companion  said  only : 

"If  you  would  like  to  join,  I  will  introduce 
you  to  the  party.  I  cannot  go,  but  they  are  all  on 
board." 

I  answered  nothing ;  but  Titbottom  drew  me 
along.  We  took  a  boat,  and  put  off  to  the  most 
extraordinary  craft  I  had  ever  seen.  We  approach 
ed  her  stern,  and,  as  I  curiously  looked  at  it,  I  could 
think  of  nothing  but  an  old  picture  that  hung  in 
my  father's  house.  It  was  of  the  Flemish  school, 
and  represented  the  rear  view  of  the  vrouw  of  a 
burgomaster  going  to  market.  The  wide  yards  were 
stretched  like  elbows,  and  even  the  studding-sails 
were  spread.  The  hull  was  seared  and  blistered, 
and,  in  the  tops,  I  saw  what  I  supposed  to  be  strings 
of  turnips  or  cabbages,  little  round  masses,  with 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING    DUTCHMAN    147 

tufted  crests ;  but  Titbottom  assured  me  they  were 
sailors. 

We  rowed  hard,  but  came  no  nearer  the  vessel. 

'  She  is  going  with  the  tide  and  wind,"  said  I  ; 
*  we  shall  never  catch  her." 

My  companion  said  nothing. 

"But  why  have  they  set  the  studding-sails  V" 
asked  I. 

"  She  never  takes  in  any  sails,"  answered  Tit- 
bottom. 

"  The  more  fool  she,"  thought  I,  a  little  impa 
tiently,  angry  at  not  getting  nearer  to  the  vessel. 
But  I  did  not  say  it  aloud.  I  would  as  soon  have 
said  it  to  Prue  as  to  Titbottom.  The  truth  is,  I 
began  to  feel  a  little  ill,  from  the  motion  of  the  boat, 
and  remembered,  with  a  shade  of  regret,  Prue  and 
peppermint.  If  wives  could  only  keep  their  hus 
bands  a  little  nauseated,  I  am  confident  they  might 
be  very  sure  of  their  constancy. 

But,  somehow,  the  strange  ship  was  gained,  and 
I  found  myself  among  as  singular  a  company  as  I 
have  ever  seen.  There  were  men  of  every  country, 
and  costumes  of  all  kinds.  There  was  an  indescrib 
able  mistiness  in  the  air,  or  a  premature  twilight, 
in  which  all  the  figures  looked  ghostly  and  unreal. 
Th°  ship  was  of  a  model  such  as  I  had  never  seen, 
and  tne  rigging  had  a  musty  odor,  so  that  the  whole 


P  RUE    AND    I 


craft  smelled  like  a  ship-chandler's  shop  grown 
mouldy.  The  figures  glided  rather  than  walked 
about,  and  I  perceived  a  strong  smell  of  cabbage 
issuing  from  the  hold. 

But  the  most  extraordinary  thing  of  all  was  the 
sense  of  resistless  motion  which  possessed  my  mind 
the  moment  my  foot  struck  the  deck.  I  could  have 
sworn  we  were  dashing  through  the  water  at  the 
rate  of  twenty  knots  an  hour.  (Prue  has  a  great, 
but  a  little  ignorant,  admiration  of  my  technical 
knowledge  of  nautical  affairs  and  phrases.)  I  looked 
aloft  and  saw  the  sails  taut  with  a  stiff  breeze,  and 
I  heard  a  faint  whistling  of  the  wrind  in  the  rigging, 
but  very  faint,  and  rather,  it  seemed  to  me,  as  if  it 
came  from  the  creak  of  cordage  in  the  ships  of  Cru 
saders  ;  or  of  quaint  old  craft  upon  the  Spanish 
main,  echoing  through  remote  years  —  so  far  away  it 
sounded. 

Yet  I  heard  no  orders  given  ;  I  saw  no  sailors 
running  aloft,  and  only  one  figure  crouching  over 
the  wheel,  He  was  lost  behind  his  great  beard  as 
behind  a  snow-drift.  But  the  startling  speed  with 
which  we  scudded  along  did  not  lift  a  solitary  hair 
of  that  beard,  nor  did  the  old  and  withered  face  of 
the  pilot  betray  any  curiosity  or  interest  as  to  what 
breakers,  or  reefs,  or  pitiless  shores,  might  be  lying 
in  ambush  to  destroy  us. 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING    DUTCHMAN.    ]  49 

Still  on  we  swept ;  and  as  the  traveller  in  a  night- 
train  knows  that  he  is  passing  green  fields,  and 
pleasant  gardens,  and  winding  streams  fringed  with 
flowers,  and  is  now  gliding  through  tunnels  or  dart 
ing  along  the  base  of  fearful  cliffs,  so  I  was  consci- 
us  that  we  were  pressing  through  various  climates 
and  by  romantic  shores.  In  vain  I  peered  into  the 
gray  twilight  mist  that  folded  all.  I  could  only  see 
the  vague  figures  that  grew  and  faded  upon  the 
haze,  as  my  eye  fell  upon  them,  like  the  intermit 
tent  characters  of  sympathetic  ink  when  heat 
touches  them. 

Now,  it  was  a  belt  of  warm,  odorous  air  in  which 
we  sailed,  and  then  cold  as  the  breath  of  a  polar 
ocean.  The  perfume  of  new-mown  hay  and  the 
breath  of  roses,  came  mingled  with  the  distant 
music  of  bells,  and  the  twittering  song  of  birds,  and 
a  low  surf-like  sound  of  the  wind  in  summer  woods. 
There  were  all  sounds  of  pastoral  beauty,  of  a  tran 
quil  landscape  such  as  Prue  loves — and  which  shall 
be  painted  as  the  background  of  her  portrait  when 
ever  she  sits  to  any  of  my  many  artist  friends — and 
that  pastoral  beauty  shall  be  called  England ;  I 
strained  my  eyes  into  the  cruel  mist  that  held  all 
that  music  and  all  that  suggested  beauty,  but  I 
could  see  nothing.  It  was  so  sweet  that  I  scarcely 
knew  if  I  cared  to  see.  The  very  thought  of  it 


150  PEUE    AND    T. 

charmed  my  senses  and  satisfied  my  heart.    I  smelled 
and  heard  the  landscape  that  I  could  not  see. 

Then  the  pungent,  penetrating  fragrance  of  blos 
soming  vineyards  was  wafted  across  the  air;  the 
flowery  richness  of  orange  groves,  and  the  sacred 
odor  of  crushed  bay  leaves,  such  as  is  pressed  from 
them  when  they  are  strewn  upon  the  flat  pavement 
of  the  streets  of  Florence,  and  gorgeous  priestly 
processions  tread  them  under  foot.  A  steam  of  in 
cense  filled  the  air.  I  smelled  Italy — as  in  the 
magnolia  from  Bourne's  garden — and,  even  while 
my  heart  leaped  with  the  consciousness,  the  odor 
Dassed,  and  a  stretch  of  burning  silence  succeeded 

It  was  an  oppressive  zone  of  heat — oppressive  not 
only  from  its  silence,  but  from  the  sense  of  awful, 
antique  forms,  whether  of  art  or  nature,  that  were 
sitting,  closely  veiled,  in  that  mysterious  obscurity 
I  shuddered  as  I  felt  that  if  my  eyes  could  pierce 
that  mist,  or  if  it  should  lift  and  roll  away,  I  should 
see  upon  a  silent  shore  low  ranges  of  lonely  hills, 
or  mystic  figures  and  huge  temples  trampled  out  of 
history  by  time. 

This,  too,  we  left.  There  was  a  rustling  of  dis 
tant  palms,  the  indistinct  roar  of  beasts,  and  the 
hiss  of  serpents.  Then  all  was  still  again.  Only 
at  times  the  remote  sigh  of  the  weary  sea,  moaning 
around  desolate  isles  undiscovered;  and  the  howl  of 


A   CRUISE   IN   THE   FLYING  DUTCHMAN.     151 

winds  that  had  never  wafted  human  voices,  but  had 
rung  endless  changes  upon  the  sound  of  dashing 
waters,  made  the  voyage  more  appalling  and  the 
figures  around  me  more  fearful. 

As  the  ship  plunged  on  through  all  the  varying 
zones,  as  climate  and  country  drifted  behind  us,  un 
seen  in  the  gray  mist,  but  each,  in  turn,  making 
that  quaint  craft  England  or  Italy,  Africa  and  the 
Southern  seas,  I  ventured  to  steal  a  glance  at  the 
motley  crew,  to  see  what  impression  this  wild  career 
produced  upon  them. 

They  sat  about  the  deck  in  a  hundred  listless 
postures.  Some  leaned  idly  over  the  bulwarks,  and 
looked  wistfully  away  from  the  ship,  as  if  they 
fancied  they  saw  all  that  I  inferred  but  could  not 
see.  As  the  perfume,  and  sound,  and  climate 
changed,  I  could  see  many  a  longing  eye  sadden 
and  grow  moist,  and  as  the  chime  of  bells  echoed 
distinctly  like  the  airy  syllables  of  names,  and,  as  it 
were,  made  pictures  in  music  upon  the  minds  of 
those  quaint  mariners — then  dry  lips  moved,  per 
haps  to  name  a  name,  perhaps  to  breathe  a  prayer. 
Others  sat  upon  the  deck,  vacantly  smoking  pipes 
that  required  no  refilling,  but  had  an  immortality  of 
weed  and  fire.  The  more  they  smoked  the  more 
mysterious  they  became.  The  smoke  made  the 
mist  around  them  more  impenetrable,  and  I  could 


152  PRUE    AND     I. 

clearly  see  that  those  distant  sounds  gradually  grew 
more  distant,  and,  by  some  of  the  most  desperate 
and  constant  smokers,  were  heard  no  more.  The 
faces  of  such  had  an  apathy,  which,  had  it  been  hu 
man,  would  have  been  despair. 

Others  stood  staring  up  into  the  rigging,  as  if 
calculating  when  the  sails  must  needs  be  rent  and 
the  voyage  end.  But  there  was  no  hope  in  their 
eyes,  only  a  bitter  longing.  Some  paced  restlessly 
up  and  down  the  deck.  They  had  evidently  been 
walking  a  long,  long  time.  At  intervals  they,  too, 
threw  a  searching  glance  into  the  mist  that  en 
veloped  the  ship,  and  up  into  the  sails  and  rigging 
that  stretched  over  them  in  hopeless  strength  and 
order. 

One  of  the  promenaders  I  especially  noticed. 
His  beard  was  long  and  snowy,  like  that  of  the 
pilot.  He  had  a  staff  in  his  hand,  and  his  move 
ment  was  very  rapid.  His  body  swung  forward,  as 
if  to  avoid  something,  and  his  glance  half  turned 
back  over  his  shoulder,  apprehensively,  as  if  he 
were  threatened  from  behind.  The  head  and  the 
whole  figure  were  bowed  as  if  under  a  burden, 
although  I  could  not  see  that  he  had  anything  upon 
his  shoulders ;  and  his  gait  was  not  that  of  a  man 
who  is  walking  off  the  ennui  of  a  voyage,  but  rather  of 

criminal  flying,  or  of  a  startled  traveller  pursued. 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING    DUTCHMAN.     153 

As  he  came  nearer  to  me  in  Ids  walk,  I  saw  that 
his  features  were  strongly  Hebrew,  and  there  was 
an  air  of  the  proucest  dignity,  fearfully  abased,  in 
his  mien  and  expression.  It  was  more  than  the  dig 
nity  of  an  individual.  I  could  have  believed  that 
the  pride  of  a  race  was  humbled  in  his  person. 

His  agile  eye  presently  fastened  itself  upon  me, 
as  a  stranger.  He  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  me 
as  he  paced  rapidly  to  and  fro,  and  was  evidently 
several  times  on  the  point  of  addressing  me,  but, 
looking  over  his  shoulder  apprehensively }  he  passed 
on.  At  length,  with  a  great  effort,  he  paused  for  an 
instant,  and  invited  me  to  join  him  in  his  walk. 
Before  the  invitation  was  fairly  uttered,  he  was  in 
motion  again.  I  followed,  but  I  could  not  overtake 
him.  He  kept  just  before  me,  and  turned  occasion 
ally  with  an  air  of  terror,  as  if  he  fancied  I  weie 
dogging  him  ;  then  glided  on  more  rapidly. 

His  face  was  by  no  means  agreeable,  but  it  had 
an  inexplicable  fascination,  as  if  it  had  been  turned 
upon  what  no  other  mortal  eyes  had  ever  seen.  Yet 
I  could  hardly  tell  whether  it  were,  probably,  an 
object  of  supreme  beauty  or  of  terror.  He  looked 
at  everything  as  if  he  hoped  its  impression  might 
obliterate  some  anterior  and  awful  one  ;  and  I  was 
gradually  possessed  with  the  unpleasant  idea  that  his 
eyes  were  never  closed — that,  in  fact,  he  never  slept. 


154  PRUE    AND    I. 

Suddenly,  fixing  me  with  his  unnatural,  wakeful 
glare,  he  whispered  something  which  I  could  not 
understand,  and  then  darted  forward  even  more 
rapidly,  as  if  he  dreaded  that,  in  merely  speaking, 
he  had  lost  time. 

Still  the  ship  drove  on,  and  I  walked  hurriedly 
along  the  deck,  just  behind  my  companion.  But 
our  speed  and  that  of  the  ship  contrasted  strangely 
with  the  mouldy  smell  of  old  rigging,  and  the  list 
less  and  lazy  groups,  smoking  and  leaning  on  the 
bulwarks.  The  seasons,  in  endless  succession  and 
iteration,  passed  over  the  ship.  The  twilight  was 
summer  haze  at  the  stern,  while  it  was  the  fiercest 
winter  mist  at  the  bows.  But  as  a  tropical  breath, 
like  the  warmth  of  a  Syrian  day,  suddenly  touched 
the  brow  of  my  companion,  he  sighed,  and  I  could 
not  help  saying : 

"  You  must  be  tired." 

He  only  shook  his  head  and  quickened  his  pace. 
But  now  that  I  had  once  spoken,  it  was  not  so 
difficult  to  speak,  and  I  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
stop  and  rest. 

He  turned  for  moment,  and  a  mournful  sweetness 
shone  in  his  dark  eyes  and  haggard,  swarthy  face. 
It  played  flittingly  around  that  strange  look  of 
ruined  human  dignity,  like  a  wan  beam  of  late  sun 
set  about  a  crumbling  and  forgotten  temple.  He 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING   DUTCHMAN.    1*55 

put  his  hand  hurriedly  to  his  forehead,  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  remember — like  a  lunatic,  who,  having 
heard  only  the  wrangle  of  fiends  in  his  delirium, 
suddenly  in  a  conscious  moment,  perceives  the 
familiar  voice  of  love.  But  who  could  this  be,  to 
whom  mere  human  sympathy  was  so  startlingly 
sweet  ? 

Still  moving,  he  whispered  with  a  woful  sadness, 
"  I  want  to  stop,  but  I  cannot.  If  I  could  only 
stop  long  enough  to  leap  over  the  bulwarks!" 

Then  he  sighed  long  and  deeply,  and  added, 
"  But  I  should  not  drown." 

So  much  had  my  interest  been  excited  by  his 
face  and  movement,  that  I  had  not  observed  the 
costume  of  this  strange  being.  He  wore  a  black 
hat  upon  his  head.  It  was  not  only  black,  but  it 
was  shiny.  Even  in  the  midst  of  this  wonderful 
scene,  I  could  observe  that  it  had  the  artificial  new 
ness  of  a  second-hand  hat;  and,  at  the  same  mo 
ment,  I  was  disgusted  by  the  odor  of  old  clothes 
— very  old  clothes,  indeed.  The  mist  and  my  sym 
pathy  had  prevented  my  seeing  before  what  a  sin 
gular  garb  the  figure  wore.  It  was  all  second-hand 
and  carefully  ironed  but  the  garments  were  obvi 
ously  collected  from  every  part  of  the  civilized 
globe.  Good  heavens !  as  I  looked  at  the  coat,  I 
had  a  strange  sensation.  I  was  sure  that  I  had 


156  PRUE    AND    1. 

once  worn  that  coat.  It  was  my  wedding  surtout 
— long  in  the  skirts — which  Prue  had  told  me, 
years  and  years  before,  she  had  given  away  to  the 
neediest  Jew  beggar  she  had  ever  seen. 

The  spectral  figure  dwindled  in  my  fancy — the 
features  lost  their  antique  grandeur,  and  the  restless 
eye  ceased  to  be  sublime  from  immortal  sleepless 
ness,  and  became  only  lively  with  mean  cunning. 
The  apparition  was  fearfully  grotesque,  but  the 
driving  ship  and  the  mysterious  company  gradually 
restored  its  tragic  interest.  I  stopped  and  leaned 
against  the  side,  and  heard  the  rippling  water  that 
I  could  not  see,  and  flitting  through  the  mist,  with 
anxious  speed,  the  figure  held  its  way.  What  was 
he  flying  ?  What  conscience  with  relentless  sting 
pricked  this  victim  on  ? 

He  came  again  nearer  and  nearer  to  me  in  his 
walk.  I  recoiled  with  disgust,  this  time,  no  less 
than  terror.  But  he  seemed  resolved  to  speak,  and, 
finally,  each  time,  as  he  passed  me,  he  asked  single 
questions,  as  a  ship  which  fires  whenever  it  can 
bring  a  gun  to  bear. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  to  what  port  we  are 
bound?" 

"No,"  I  replied;  "but  how  came  you  to  take 
passage  without  inquiry  \  To  me  it  makes  little 
difference." 


A    CRUISE    IN   THE    FLYING   DUTCHMAN.     157 

u  Nor  do  I  care,  he  answered,  when  he  next 
came  near  enough  ;  1  have  already  been  there." 

"Where?"  asked  I. 

"Wherever  we  are  going,"  he  replied.  "I  have 
been  there  a  great  many  times,  and,  oh !  I  am  very 
tired  of  it." 

"  But  why  are  you  here  at  all,  then ;  and  why 
don't  you  stop?" 

There  was  a  singular  mixture  of  a  hundred  con 
flicting  emotions  in  his  face,  as  I  spoke.  The 
representative  grandeur  of  a  race,  which  he  some 
times  showed  in  his  look,  faded  into  a  glance  of 
hopeless  and  puny  despair.  His  eyes  looked  at  me 
curiously,  his  chest  heaved,  and  there  was  clearly  a 
struggle  in  his  mind,  between  some  lofty  and  mean 
desire.  At  times,  I  saw  only  the  austere  suffering 
of  ages  in  his  strongly-carved  features,  and  again  I 
could  see  nothing  but  the  second-hand  black  fyat 
above  them.  He  rubbed  his  forehead  with  his 
skinny  hand ;  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  as  if 
calculating  whether  he  had  time  to  speak  to  me, 
and  then,  as  a  splendid  defiance  flashed  from  his 
piercing  eyes,  BO  that  I  know  how  Milton's  Satan 
looked,  he  said,  bitterly,  and  with  hopeless  sorrow, 
that  no  mortal  voice  ever  knew  before  : 

"  I  cannot  stop :  my  woe  is  infinite,  like  my  sin  !" 
—and  he  passed  into  the  mist. 


€3 
OF  THE 
IVERSITY 
5 


158  PKITE    AND    I. 

Bui,  in  a  few  moments,  he  reappeared.  I  could 
now  see  only  the  hat,  which  sank  more  and  more 
over  his  face,  until  it  covered  it  entirely ;  and  I 
heard  a  querulous  voice,  which  seemed  to  be  quar 
relling  with  itself,  for  saying  what  it  was  compelled 
to  say.  so  that  the  words  were  even  more  appalling 
than  what  it  had  said  before  : 

"  Old  clo'  !  old  clo'  !" 

I  gazed  at  the  disappearing  figure,  in  speechless 
amazement,  and  was  still  looking,  when  I  was 
tapped  upon  the  shoulder,  and,  turning  round,  saw 
a  German  cavalry  officer,  with  a  heavy  moustache, 
and  a  dog-whistle  in  his  hand. 

"  Most  extraordinary  man,  your  friend  yonder," 
said  the  officer;  "I  don't  remember  to  have  seen 
him  in  Turkey,  and  yet  I  recognize  upon  his  feet 
the  boots  that  I  wore  in  the  great  Russian  cavalry 
charge,  where  I  individually  rode  down  five  hundred 
and  thirty  Turks,  slewT  seven  hundred,  at  a  mode 
rate  computation,  by  the  mere  force  of  my  rush, 
and,  taking  the  seven  insurmountable  walls  of 
Constantinople  at  one  clean  flying  leap,  rode  straight 
into  the  seraglio  and,  dropping  the  bridle,  cut  the 
sultan's  throat  with  my  bridle-hand,  kissed  the 
other  to  tho  ladies  of  the  hareem,  and  was  back 
again  within  our  lines  and  taking  a  glass  of  wine 
with  the  hereditary  Grand  Duke  Generalissimo 


A   CRUISE    IX    THE    FLYING   DUTCHMAN      159 

before  he  knew  that  I  had  mounted.  Oddly  enough, 
your  old  friend  is  now  sporting  the  identical  boots 
I  wore  on  that  occasion." 

The  cavalry  officer  coolly  curled  his  moustache 
with  his  fingers.  I  looked  at  him  in  silence. 

"Speaking  of  boots,"  he  resumed,  "I  don't  re 
member  to  have  told  you  of  that  little  incident  of 
the  Princess  of  the  Crimea's  diamonds.  It  was 
slight,  but  curious.  I  was  dining  one  day  with  the 
Emperor  of  the  Crimea,  who  always  had  a  cover 
laid  for  me  at  his  table,  when  he  said,  in  great  per 
plexity,  '  Baron,  my  boy,  I  am  in  straits.  The  Shah 
of  Persia  has  just  sent  me  word  that  he  has 
presented  me  with  two  thousand  pearl-of-Oman 
necklaces,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  get  them  over, 
the  duties  are  so  heavy.'  '  Nothing  easier,'  replied 
I;  '  I'll  bring  them  in  my  boots.'  '  Nonsense  ! '  said 
the  Emperor  of  the  Crimea.  *  Nonsense  !  yourself,' 
replied  I,  sportively :  for  the  Emperor  of  the 
Crimea  always  gives  me  my  joke  ;  and  so  after 
dinner  I  went  over  to  Persia.  The  thing  was  easily 
enough  done.  I  ordered  a  hundred  thousand  pairs 
of  boots  or  so,  filled  them  with  the  pearls;  said  at 
the  Custom-house  that  they  were  part  of  my  private 
wardrobe,  and  I  had  left  the  blocks  in  to  keep 
them  stretched,  for  I  was  particular  about  my 
bunions.  The  officers  bowed,  and  said  that  their 


160  PRUE    AND    I. 

own  feet  were  tender,  upon  which  I  jokingly  re 
marked  that  I  wished  their  consciences  were,  and 
so  in  the  pleasantest  manner  possible  the  pearl-of- 
Ornan  necklaces  were  bowed  out  of  Persia,  and  the 
Emperor  of  the  Crimea  gave  me  three  thousand  of 
them  as  my  share.  It  was  no  trouble.  It  was 
only  ordering  the  boots,  and  whistling  to  the  in 
fernal  rascals  of  Persian  shoe-makers  to  hang  for 
their  pay." 

I  could  reply  nothing  to  my  new  acquaintance, 
but  I  treasured  his  stories  to  tell  to  Prue,  and  at 
length  summoned  courage  to  ask  him  why  he  had 
taken  passage. 

"Pure  fun,"  answered  he,  "nothing  else  under 
the  sun.  You  see,  it  happened  in  this  way : — I 
was  sitting  quietly  and  swinging  in  a  cedar  of 
Lebanon,  on  the  very  summit  of  that  mountain, 
when  suddenly,  feeling  a  little  warm,  I  took  a  brisk 
dive  into  the  Mediterranean.  Now  I  was  careless, 
and  got  going  obliquely,  and  with  the  force  of  such 
a  dive  I  could  not  come  up  near  Sicily,  as  I  had 
intended,  but  I  went  clean  under  Africa,  and  came 
out  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  as  Fortune 
would  have  it,  just  as  this  good  ship  was  passing. 
So  I  sprang  over  the  side,  and  offered  the  crew  to 
treat  all  round  if  they  would  tell  me  where  I  started 
from.  But  I  suppose  they  had  just  been  piped  to 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING   DUTCHMAN      161 

grog,  for  not  a  man   stirred,   except   your   friend 
yonder,  and  he  only  kept  on  stirring." 

"Are  you  going  far?"  I  asked. 

The  cavalry  officer  looked  a  little  disturbed.  "  I 
cannot  precisely  tell,"  answered  he,  "  in  fact,  I  wish 
I  could ;"  and  he  glanced  round  nervously  at  the j 
strange  company. 

"If  you  should  come  our  way,  Prue  and  I  will 
be  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  I,  "  and  I  can  prom 
ise  you  a  warm  welcome  from  the  children." 

Many  thanks,"  said  the  officer, — and  handed  me 
his  card,  upon  which  I  read,  Le  Baron  Mtmchausen. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  a  low  voice  at  my 
side ;  and,  turning,  I  saw  one  of  the  most  constant 
smokers — a  very  old  man — "  I  beg  your  pardon,  but 
can  you  tell  me  where  I  came  from?" 

"  I  am  sorrv  to  say  I  cannot,"  answered  I,  as  I 
surveyed  a  man  with  a  very  bewildered  and  wrin 
kled  face,  who  seemed  to  be  intently  looking  for 
something. 

"Nor  where  I  am  going?" 

I  replied  that  it  was  equally  impossible.  He 
mused  a  few  moments,  and  then  said  slowly,  "  Do 
you  know,  it  is  a  very  strange  thing  that  I  have  not 
found  anybody  who  can  answer  me  either  of  those 
questions.  And  yet  I  must  have  come  from  some 
where,"  said  he,  speculatively — "yes,  and  I  must 


162  PRUE    AND    I. 

be  going  somewhere,  and  I  should  really  like  to 
know  something  about  it." 

"I  observe,"  said  I.  "that  you  smoke  a  good 
deal,  and  perhaps  you  find  tobacco  clouds  your 
brain  a  little." 

"  Smoke  !  Smoke  !"  repeated  he,  sadly,  dwelling 
upon  the  words ;  "  why,  it  all  seems  smoke  to 
me ;"  and  he  looked  wistfully  around  the  deck,  and 
I  felt  quite  ready  to  agree  with  him. 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  are  here  for,"  inquired  I ; 
*  perhaps  your  health,  or  business  of  some  kind, 
although  I  was  told  it  was  a  pleasure  party  ?" 

"That's  just  it,"  said  he;  "if  I  only  knew  where 
we  were  going,  I  might  be  able  to  say  something 
about  it.  But  where  are  you  going?" 

"  I  am  going  home  as  fast  as  I  can,"  replied  I 
warmly,  for  I  began  to  be  very  uncomfortable. 
The  old  man's  eyes  half  closed,  and  his  mind  seemed 
to  have  struck  a  scent. 

"Isn't  that  where  I  was  going?  I  believe  it  is: 
i  wish  I  knew ;  I  think  that's  what  it  is  called. 
Where  is  home?" 

And  the  old  man  puffed  a  prodigious  cloud  of 
smoke,  in  which  he>  was  quite  lost. 

"  It  is  certainly  very  smoky,"  said  he,  "  I  came 
on  board  this  ship  to  go  to — in  fact,  I  meant,  as  I 
was  saying,  I  took  passage  for — ."  He  smoked 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING    DUTCHMAN      1G3 

silently.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  but  where  did  you 
say  I  was  going?" 

Out  of  the  mist  where  he  had  been  leaning  over 
the  side,  and  gazing  earnestly  into  the  surrounding 
obscurity,  now  came  a  pale  young  man,  and  put  his 
arm  in  mine. 

11 1  see,"  said  he,  "  that  you  have  rather  a  general 
acquaintance,  and,  as  you  know  many  persons,  per 
haps  you  know  many  things.  I  am  young,  you 
see,  but  I  am  a  great  traveller.  I  have  been  all  over 
the  world,  and  in  all  kinds  of  conveyances ;  but," 
he  continued,  nervously,  starting  continually,  and 
looking  around,  "I  haven't  yet  got  abroad." 

"  Not  got  abroad,  and  yet  you  have  been  every 
where  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes  ;  I  know,"  he  replied,  hurriedly  ;  "  but 
I  mean  that  I  haven't  yet  got  away.  I  travel  con 
stantly,  but  it  does  no  good — and  perhaps  you  can 
tell  me  the  secret  I  want  to  know-.  I  will  pay  any 
sum  for  it.  I  am  very  rich  and  very  young,  and,  if 
money  cannot  buy  it,  I  will  give  as  many  years  of 
my  life  as  you  require." 

He  moved  his  hands  convulsively,  and  his  hair 
was  wet  upon  his  forehead.  He  was  very  handsome 
in  that  mystic  light,  but  his  eye  burned  with  eager 
ness,  and  his  slight,  graceful  frame  thrilled  with  the 
earnestness  of  his  emotion.  The  Emperor  Hadrian, 


164  PRUE    AND    I 

who  loved  the  boy  Antinous,  would  have  loved  the 
youth. 

"  But  what  is  it  that  you  wish  to  leave  behind?" 
said  I,  at  length,  holding  his  arm  paternally;  "what 
do  you  wish  to  escape?" 

He  threw  his  arms  straight  down  by  his  side, 
clenched  his  hands,  and  looked  fixedly  in  my  eyes. 
The  beautiful  head  was  thrown  a  little  back  upon 
one  shoulder,  and  the  wan  faced  glowed  with  yearn 
ing  desire  and  utter  abandonment  to  confidence,  so 
that,  without  his  saying  it,  I  knew  that  he  had 
never  whispered  the  secret  which  he  was  about  to 
impart  to  me.  Then,  with  a  long  sigh,  as  if  his 
life  were  exhaling,  he  whispered, 

"Myself." 

"Ah !  my  boy,  you  are  bound  upon  a  long  jour 
ney." 

"  I  know  it,  "  he  replied  mournfully  ;  "  and  I  can 
not  even  get  started.  If  I  don't  get  off  in  this 
ship,  I  fear  I  shall  never  escape."  His  last  words 
were  lost  in  the  mist  which  gradually  removed  him 
from  my  view. 

"The  youth  has  been  amusing  you  with  some  of 
his  wild  fancies,  I  suppose,"  said  a  venerable  man, 
who  might  have  been  twin  brother  of  that  snowy- 
bearded  pilot.  "It  is  a  great  pity  so  promising  a 
young  man  shculd  be  the  victim  of  such  vagaries. " 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING  DUTCHMAN.    165 

He  stood  looking  over  the  side  for  some  time, 
and  at  length  added, 

"  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  arrive  soon  ?" 

"  Where  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Why,  in  Eldorado,  of  course,"  answered  he, 
"  The  truth  is,  I  became  very  tired  of  that  long  pro 
cess  to  find  the  Philosopher's  Stone,  and,  although 
1  was  just  upon  the  point  of  the  last  combination 
which  must  infallibly  have  produced  the  medium, 
I  abandoned  it  when  I  heard  Orellana's  account, 
and  found  that  Nature  had  already  done  in  Eldorado 
precisely  what  I  was  trying  to  do.  You  see," 
continued  the  old  man  abstractedly,  "  I  had  put 
youth,  and  love,  and  hope,  besides  a  great  many 
scarce  minerals,  into  the  crucible,  and  they  all  dis 
solved  slowly,  and  vanished  in  vapor.  It  was 
curious,  but  they  left  no  residuum  except  a  little 
ashes,  which  were  not  strong  enough  to  make  a  lye 
to  cure  a  lame  finger.  But,  as  I  was  saying, 
Orellana  told  us  about  Eldorado  just  in  time,  and 
I  thought,  if  any  ship  would  carry  me  there  it  must 
be  this.  But  I  am  very  sorry  to  find  that  any  one  who 
is  in  pursuit  of  such  a  hopeless  goal  as  that  pale 
young  man  yonder,  should  have  taken  passage.  It 
is  only  age,"  he  said,  slowly  stroking  his  white 
beard,  "  that  teaches  us  wisdom,  and  persuades  us 
to  renounce  the  hope  of  escaping  ourselves  ;  and  just 


166  PRUE    AND    I. 

as  we  are  discovering  the  Philosopher's  Stone,  relieves 
our  anxiety  by  pointing  the  way  to  Eldorado." 

"Are  we  really  going  there?"  asked  I,  in  some 
trepidation. 

"  Can  there  be  any  doubt  of  it  ?"  replied  the  old 
man.  '  Where  should  we  be  going,  if  not  there  ? 
However,  let  us  summon  the  passengers  and 
ascertain." 

So  saying,  the  venerable  man  beckoned  to  the 
various  groups  that  were  clustered,  ghost-like,  in  the 
mist  that  enveloped  the  ship.  They  seemed  to 
draw  nearer  with  listless  curiosity,  and  stood  or  sat 
near  us,  smoking  as  before,  or,  still  leaning  on  the 
side,  idly  gazing.  But  the  restless  figure  who  had 
first  accosted  me,  still  paced  the  deck,  flitting  in 
and  out  of  the  obscurity;  and  as  he  passed  there 
was  the  same  mien  of  humbled  pride,  and  the  air  of 
a  fate  of  tragic  grandeur,  and  still  the  same  faint 
odor  of  old  clothes,  and  the  low  querulous  cry, 
"  Old  clo  !'  old  clo'  !" 

The  ship  dashed  on.  Unknown  odors  and 
strange  sounds  still  filled  the  air,  and  all  the  world 
went  by  us  as  we  flew,  with  no  other  noise  than 
the  low  gurgling  of  the  sea  around  the  side. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  reverend  passenger  for 
Eldorado,  "  I  hope  there  is  no  misapprehension  as 
to  our  destination?" 


i*  J>l    .1     V      ^  .     , 


> 

A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FRYING    DUTCHMAN.     1G7 

As  he  said  this,  there  was  a  general  movement 
of  anxiety  and  curiosity.  Presently  the  smoker, 
who  had  asked  me  where  he  was  going,  said, 
doubtfully  : 

"  I  don't  know  —  it  seems  to  me  —  I  mean  I  wish 
somebody  would  distinctly  say  where  we  are 
going." 

"I  think  I  can  throw  a  light  upon  this  subject," 
said  a  person  whom  I  had  not  before  remarked.  He 
was  dressed  like  a  sailor,  and  had  a  dreamy  eye 
r  It  is  very  clear  to  me  where  we  are  going.  I 
have  been  taking  observations  for  some  time,  and  I 
am  glad  to  announce  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of 
achieving  great  fame  ;  and  I  may  add,"  said  he, 
modestly,  "  that  my  own  good  name  for  scientific 
acumen  will  be  amply  vindicated.  Gentlemen,  we 
are  undoubtedly  going  into  the  Hole." 

"  What  hole  is  that  ?"  asked  M.  le  Baron  Mun- 
chausen,  a  little  contemptuously. 

"Sir,  it  will  make  you  more  famous  than  you 
ever   were   before,"  replied  the  first  speaker,  evi 
dently  much  enraged. 

"  I  am  persuaded  we  are  going  into  no  such  ab 
surd  place,"  said  the  Baron,  exasperated. 

The  sailor  with  the  dreamy  eye  was  fearfully 
angry.  He  drew  himself  up  stiffly  and  said 

"  Sir,  you  lie  !" 


168  PRUE   AND    I. 

M.  It  Baron  Munchausen  took  it  in  very  gooJ 
part.  He  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand  : 

"  My  friend,"  said  he,  blandly,  "  that  is  precisely 
what  I  have  always  heard.  I  am  glad  you  do  me 
no  more  than  justice.  I  fully  assent  to  your  theory; 
and  your  words  constitute  me  the  proper  histori 
ographer  of  the  expedition.  But  tell  me  one  thing, 
how  soon,  after  getting  into  the  Hole,  do  you  think 
we  shall  get  out?" 

"  The  result  will  prove,"  said  the  marine 
gentleman,  handing  the  officer  his  card,  upon 
which  was  written,  Captain  Symmes.  The  two 
gentlemen  then  walked  aside ;  and  the  groups 
began  to  sway  to  and  fro  in  the  haze  as  if  not  quite 
contented. 

"  Good  God,"  said  the  pale  youth,  running  up  to 
me  and  clutching  my  arm,  "  I  cannot  go  into  any 
Hole  alone  with  myself.  I  should  die — I  should 
kill  myself.  I  thought  somebody  was  on  board, 
and  I  hoped  you  were  he,  who  would  steer  us  to 
the  fountain  of  oblivion." 

"  Very  well,  that  is  in  the  Hole,"  said  M.  le 
Baron,  who  came  out  of  the  mist  at  that  moment, 
leaning  upon  the  Captain's  arm. 

"  But  can  I  leave  myself  outside  ?"  asked  the 
ycuth,  nervously. 

*»  Certainly,"  interposed  the  old  Alchemist;  uyou 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING   DUTCHMAN.  169 

may  be  sure  that  you  will  not  get  into  the  Hole, 
until  you  have  left  yourself  behind." 

The  pale  young  man  grasped  his  hand,  and  gazed 
into  his  eyes. 

"  And  then  I  can  drink  and  be  happy,"  mur 
mured  he,  as  he  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  ship, 
and  listened  to  the  rippling  water,  as  if  it  had  been 
the  music  of  the  fountain  of  oblivion." 

"  Drink  !  drink !"  said  the  smoking  old  man. 
"  Fountain !  fountain  !  Why,  I  believe  that  is 
what  I  am  after.  I  beg  your  pardon,"  continued 
he,  addressing  the  Alchemist.  "  But  can  you  tell 
me  if  I  am  looking  for  a  fountain  ?" 

"  The  fountain  of  youth,  perhaps,"  replied  the 
Alchemist. 

"  The  very  thing !"  cried  the  smoker,  with  a 
shrill  laugh,  while  his  pipe  fell  from  his  mouth, 
and  was  shattered  upon  the  deck,  and  the  old  man 
tottered  away  into  the  mist,  chuckling  feebly  to 
himself,  " Youth!  youth!" 

"  He'll  find  that  in  the  Hole,  too,"  said  the  Al 
chemist,  as  he  gazed  after  the  receding  figure. 

The  crowd  now  gathered  more  nearly  around  us. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  Alchemist, 
"  where  shall  we  go,  or,  rather,  where  are  we 
going  T 

A  man  in  a  friar's  habit,  with  the  cowl  closely 

8 


170  PRUE    AND     I. 

drawn  about  his  head,  now  crossed  himself,  and 
whispered  : 

*"  I  have  but  one  object.  I  should  not  have  been 
here  it'  I  had  not  supposed  we  were  going  to  find 
L'rester  John,  to  whom  I  have  been  appointed 
father  confessor,  and  at  whose  court  I  am  to  live 
splendidly,  like  a  cardinal  at  Rome.  Gentlemen, 
if  you  will  only  agree  that  we  shall  go  there,  you 
shall  all  be  permitted  to  hold  my  train  when 
1  proceed  to  be  enthroned  as  Bishop  of  Central 
Africa. 

While  he  was  speaking,  another  old  man  came 
from  the  bows  of  the  ship,  a  figure  which  had  been 
so  immoveable  in  its  place  that  I  supposed  it  was 
the  ancient  figure-head  of  the  craft,  and  said  in  a 
low,  hollow  voice,  and  a  quaint  accent: 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  centuries,  and  I  cannot 
see  it.  I  supposed  we  were  heading  for  it.  I 
thought  sometimes  I  saw  the  flash  of  distant  spires, 
the  sunny  gleam  of  upland  pastures,  the  soft  undu 
lation  of  purple  hills.  Ah  !  me.  I  am  sure  I  heard 
the  singing  of  birds,  and  the  faint  low  of  cattle. 
But  I  do  not  know :  we  come  no  nearer ;  and  yet  I 
felt  its  presence  in  the  air.  If  the  mist  would  only 
lift,  we  should  see  it  lying  so  fair  upon  the  sea,  so 
graceful  against  the  sky.  I  fear  we  may  have 
cassed  it.  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  sadly,  "  I  am 


A    CRUISE    IN   THE    FLYING   DUTCHMAN.     171 

afraid  we  may  have  lost  the  island  of  Atlantis  foi 
ever." 

There  was  a  look  of  uncertainty  in  the  throng 
upon  the  deck. 

"  But  yet,"  said  a  group  of  young  men  in  every 
kind  of  costume,  and  of  every  country  and  time, 
"  we  have  a  chance  at  the  Encantadas,  the  En 
chanted  Islands.  We  were  reading  of  them  only 
the  other  day,  and  the  very  style  of  the  story  had 
the  music  of  waves.  How  happy  we  shall  be  to 
reach  a  land  where  there  is  no  work,  nor  tempest, 
nor  pain,  and  we  shall  be  for  ever  happy." 

"  I  am  content  here,"  said  a  laughing  youth,  with 
heavily  matted  curls.  "  What  can  be  better  than 
this?  We  feel  every  climate,  the  music  and  the 
perfume  of  every  zone,  are  ours.  In  the  starlight  I 
woo  the  mermaids,  as  I  lean  over  the  side,  and  no 
enchanted  island  will  show  us  fairer  forms.  I  am 
satisfied.  The  ship  sails  on.  We  cannot  see  but 
we  can  dream.  What  work  or  pain  have  we  here  ? 
I  like  the  ship  ;  I  like  the  voyage  ;  I  like  my  com 
pany,  and  am  content." 

As  he  spoke  he  put  something  into  his  mouth, 
and,  drawing  a  white  substance  from  his  pocket, 
offered  it  to  his  neighbor,  saying,  "  Try  a  bit  of  this 
lotus;  you  will  find  it  very  soothing  to  the  nerves, 
r.nd  an  infallible  remedy  for  home-sickness.'' 


172  PRUE    AND    I 

"  Gentlemen,*'  said  M.  le  Baron  Munchausen,  •*  i 
have  no  fear.  The  arrangements  are  well  made 
the  voyage  has  been  perfectly  planned,  and  each 
passenger  will  discover  what  he  took  passage  tofinci, 
in  the  Hole  into  which  we  are  going,  under  the  au 
spices  of  this  worthy  Captain." 

He  ceased,  and  silence  fell  upon  the  ship's  com 
pany.  Still  on  we  swept ;  it  seemed  a  weary  way. 
The  tireless  pedestrians  still  paced  to  and  fro,  and 
the  idle  smokers  puffed.  The  ship  sailed  on,  and 
endless  music  and  odor  chased  each  other  through 
the  misty  air.  Suddenly  a  deep  sigh  drew  univer 
sal  attention  to  a  person  who  had  not  yet  spoken. 
He  held  a  broken  harp  in  his  hand,  the  strings  flut 
tered  loosely  in  the  air,  and  the  head  of  the  speaker, 
bound  with  a  withered  wreath  of  laurels,  bent  ovei 
it. 

"No,  no,"  said  he,  "I  will  not  eat  your  lotus, 
nor  sail  into  the  Hole.  No  magic  root  can  cure  the 
home-sickness  I  feel ;  for  it  is  no  regretful  remem 
brance,  but  an  immortal  longing.  I  have  roamed 
farther  than  I  thought  the  earth  extended.  I  have 
climbed  mountains  ;  I  have  threaded  rivers  ;  I  have 
Bailed  seas  ;  but  nowhere  have  I  seen  the  home  for 
which  my  heart  aches.  Ah  !  my  friends,  you  look 
very  weary;  let  us  go  home." 

The  pedestrian  paused  a  moment  in  his  walk,  and 


A    ORU1SE    IN    THE    FLYING    DUTCHMAN,    173 

the  smokers  took  their  pipes  fiom  their  mouths. 
The  soft  air  which  blew  in  that  moment  across  the 
deck,  drew  a  low  sound  from  the  broken  harp-strings, 
and  a  light  shone  in  the  eyes  of  the  old  man  of  the 
figure-head,  as  if  the  mist  had  lifted  for  an  instant, 
and  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  lost  Atlantis. 

u  I  really  believe  that  is  where  I  wish  to  go,"  said 
the  seeker  of  the  fountain  of  youth.  "  I  think  I  would 
give  up  drinking  at  the  fountain  if  I  could  get  there. 
I  do  not  know,"  he  murmured,  doubtfully  ;  "  it  is 
not  sure ;  I  mean,  perhaps,  I  should  not  have 
strength  to  get  to  the  fountain,  even  if  I  were  near 
it" 

*'  But  is  it  possible  to  get  home  ?"  inquired  the 
pale  young  man.  *'  I  think  I  should  be  resigned  if  I 
could  get  home." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  dry,  hard  voice  of  Prester 
John's  confessor,  as  his  cowl  fell  a  little  back,  and  a 
sudden  flush  burned  upon  his  gaunt  face;  "if  there 
is  any  chance  of  home,  I  will  give  up  the  Bishop's 
palace  in  Central  Africa." 

"  But  Eldorado  is  my  home,"  interposed  the  old 
Alchemist. 

"  Or  is  home  Eldorado  ?"  asked  the  poet,  with  the 
withered  wreath,  turning  towards  the  Alchemist. 

It  was  a  strange  company  and  a  wondrous  voy 
age.  Here  were  all  kinds  of  men,  of  all  times  and 


L74  PR UE  AND  I 

countries,  pursuing  the  wildest  hopes,  the  most  chi 
merical  desires.  One  took  me  aside  to  request  that 
I  would  not  let  it  be  known,  but  that  he  inferred 
from  certain  signs  we  were  nearing  Utopia.  Another 
whispered  gaily  in  my  ear  that  he  thought  the  water 
was  gradually  becoming  of  a  ruby  color — the  hue 
of  wine  ;  and  he  had  no  doubt  we  should  wake  in 
the  morning  and  find  ourselves  in  the  land  of  Cock 
aigne.  A  third,  in  great  anxiety,  stated  to  me  that 
such  continuous  mists  were  unknown  upon  the  ocean  ; 
that  they  were  peculiar  to  rivers,  and  that,  beyond 
question,  we  were  drifting  along  some  stream, 
probably  the  Nile,  and  immediate  measures  ought  to 
be  taken  that  we  did  not  go  ashore  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains  of  the  moon.  Others  were  quite  sure 
that  we  were  in  the  way  of  striking  the  great 
southern  continent ;  and  a  young  man,  who  gave  his 
name  as  Wilkins,  said  we  might  be  quite  at  ease, 
for  presently  some  friends  of  his  would  come  flying 
over  from  the  neighboring  islands  and  tell  us  all  we 
wished. 

Still  I  smelled  tht;  mouldy  rigging,  and  the  odor 
of  cabbage  was  strong  from  the  hold. 

0  Prue,  what  could  the  ship  be,  in  which  such 
fantastic  characters  were  sailing  toward  impossible 
bournes — charact3rs  wrhich  in  every  age  have  ven 
tured  all  the  bright  capital  of  life  in  vague  specula- 


A    CRUISE    IN    THE    FLYING    DUTCHMAN.    175 

tions  and  romantic  dreams  ?  What  could  it  be  but 
the  ship  that  haunts  the  sea  for  ever,  and,  with  all 
sails  set,  drives  onward  before  a  ceaseless  gale,  and 
is  not  hailed,  nor  ever  comes  to  port? 

I  know  the  ship  is  always  full;  I  know  the  gray- 
beard  still  watches  at  the  prow  for  the  lost  Atlantis, 
and  still  the  alchemist  believes  that  Eldorado  is  at 
hand.  Upon  his  aimless  quest,  the  dotard  still  asks 
where  he  is  going,  and  the  pale  youth  knows  thp/ 
he  shall  never  fly  himself.  Yet  they  would  gladlv 
renounce  that  wild  chase  and  the  dear  dreams  of 
years,  could  they  find  what  I  have  never  lost.  Thev 
were  ready  to  follow  the  poet  home,  if  he  would 
have  told  them  where  it  lay. 

I  know  where  it  lies.  I  breathe  the  soft  air  of 
the  purple  uplands  which  they  shall  never  tread.  I 
hear  the  sweet  music  of  the  voices  they  long  for  in 
vain.  I  am  no  traveller  ;  my  only  voyage  is  to  the 
office  and  home  again.  William  and  Christopher, 
John  and  Charles  sail  to  Europe  and  the  South,  but 
I  defy  their  romantic  distances.  When  the  spring 
comes  and  the  flowers  blow,  I  drift  through  the 
year  belted  with  summer  and  with  spice. 

With  the  changing  months  I  keep  high  carnival 
in  all  the  zones.  I  sit  at  home  and  walk  with  Prue, 
arid  if  the  sun  that  stirs  the  sap  quickens  also  thd 
wish  to  wander,  I  remember  my  fellow-voyagers  on 


176  PEUE    AND    I 

that  romantic  craft,  and  looking  round  upon  my 
peaceful  room,  and  pressing  more  closely  the  arm 
of  Prue,  I  feel  that  I  have  reached  the  port  for 
which  they  hopelessly  sailed.  And  when  winds 
blow  fiercely  and  the  night-storm  rages,  and  the 
thought  of  lost  mariners  and  of  perilous  voyages 
touches  the  soft  heart  of  Prue,  I  hear  a  voice 
sweeter  to  my  ear  than  that  of  the  syrens  to  the 
tempest-tost  sailor :  "  Thank  God !  Your  only 
cruising  is  in  the  Flying  Dutchman !" 


FAMILY  PORTRAITS. 


"Look  here  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this." 

jJamlet. 


^?^x 

OPTHt 

UNIVERSITY) 


^ 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS, 

'•'  Look  here  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this." 

Hamlet. 

WE  have  no  family  pictures,  Prue  and  I,  only  a 
portrait  of  my  grandmother  hangs  upon  our  parlor 
wall.  It  was  taken  at  least  a  century  ago,  and  rep 
resents  the  venerable  lady,  whom  I  remember  in  my 
childhood  in  spectacles  and  comely  cap,  as  a  young 
and  blooming  girl. 

She  is  sitting  upon  an  old-fashioned  sofa,  by  the 
side  of  a  prim  aunt  of  hers,  and  with  her  back  to  the 
open  window.  Her  costume  is  quaint,  but  hand 
some.  It  consists  of  a  cream-colored  dress  made 
high  in  the  throat,  ruffled  around  the  neck,  and  over 
the  bosom  and  the  shoulders.  The  waist  is  just 
under  her  shoulders,  and  the  sleeves  are  tight,  tighter 
than  any  of  our  coat  sleeves,  and  also  ruffled  at  the 
wrist.  Around  the  plump  and  rosy  neck  which 
remember  as  shrivelled  and  saliow,  and  nidden  un 
der  a  decent  lace  handkerchief,  hangs,  in  the  picture, 


180  PRUE    AND    1. 

a  necklace  of  large  ebony  beads.  There  are  two 
curls  upon  the  forehead,  and  the  rest  of  the  hair 
flows  away  in  ringlets  down  the  neck. 

The  hands  hold  an  open  book  :  the  eyes  look  up 
fiom  it  with  tranquil  sweetness,  and,  through  the 
open  window  behind,  you  see  a  quiet  landscape — -a 
hill,  a  tree  the  glimpse  of  a  river,  and  a  few  peace 
ful  summfci*  clouds. 

Ofren  in  *ny  younger  days,  when  my  grandmother 
sat  by  the  fire,  after  dinner,  lost  in  thought — perhaps 
remembering  the  time  when  the  picture  was  really 
a  portrait — I  have  curiously  compared  her  wasted 
face  with  the  blooming  beauty  of  the  girl,  and  tried 
to  detect  the  likeness.  It  was  strange  how  the 
resemblance  would  sometimes  start  out :  how,  as  I 
gazed  and  gazed  upon  her  old  face,  age  disappeared 
before  my  eager  glance,  as  snow  melts  in  the  sun 
shine,  revealing  the  flowers  of  a  forgotten  spring. 

It  was  touching  to  see  my  grandmother  steal 
quietly  up  to  her  portrait,  on  still  summer  morn 
ings  when  every  one  had  left  the  house, — and  I,  the 
only  child,  played,  disregarded, — and  look  at  it  wist 
fully  and  long. 

She  held  her  hand  over  her  eyes  to  shade  them 
from  the  light  that  streamed  in  at  the  window,  and 
I  have  seen  her  stand  at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
gazing  steadfastly  at  the  picture.  She  said  nothing, 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS.  181 

she  made  no  motion,  she  shed  no  tear,  but  when 
she  turned  away  there  was  always  a  pensive  sweet 
ness  in  her  face  that  made  it  not  less  lovely  than 
the  face  of  her  youth. 

I  have  learned  since,  what  her  thoughts  must  have 
been — how  that  long,  wistful  glance  annihilated 
time  and  space,  how  forms  and  faces  unknown  to 
any  other,  rose  in  sudden  resurrection  around  her — 
how  she  loved,  suffered,  struggled  and  conquered 
again  ;  how  many  a  jest  that  I  shall  never  hear, 
how  many  a  game  that  I  shall  never  play,  how 
many  a  song  that  I  shall  never  sing,  were  all  renew 
ed  and  remembered  as  my  grandmother  contem 
plated  her  picture. 

I  often  stand,  as  she  stood,  gazing  earnestly  at  the 
picture,  so  long  and  so  silently,  that  Prue  looks  up 
from  her  work  and  says  she  shall  be  jealous  of  that 
beautiful  belle,  my  grandmother,  who  yet  makes 
her  think  more  kindly  of  those  remote  old  times. 

"  Yes,  Prue,  and  that  is  the  charm  of  a  family  por 
trait." 

"  Yes,  again  ;  but,  '  says  Titbottom  when  he  hears 
the  remark,  "  how,  if  one's  grandmother  were  a 
shrew,  a  termagant,  a  virago  ?" 

"  Ah !  in  that  case — "  1  am  compelled  to  say,  while 
Prue  looks  up  again,  half  archly,  and  I  add  gravely 
—  'you,  for  instance,  Prue." 


182  PRUE    AND    1. 

Then  Titbottom  smiles  one  of  his  sad  smiles,  and 
we  change  the  subject. 

Yet,  I  am  always  glad  when  Minim  Sculpin,  our 
neighbor,  who  knows  that  my  opportunities  are 
few,  comes  to  ask  me  to  step  round  and  see  the 
family  portraits. 

The  Sculpins,  1  think,  are  a  very  old  family. 
Titbottom  says  they  date  from  the  deluge.  But  I 
thought  people  of  English  descent  preferred  to  stop 
with  William  the  Conqueror,  who  came  from  France. 

Before  going  with  Minim,  I  always  fortify  my 
self  with  a  glance  at  the  great  family  Bible,  in  which 
Adam,  Eve,  and  the  patriarchs,  are  indifferently 
well  represented. 

"  Those  are  the  ancestors  of  the  Howards,  the 
Plantagenets,  and  the  Montmorencis,"  says  Prue, 
surprising  me  with  her  erudition.  "  Have  you  any 
remoter  ancestry,  Mr.  Sculpin  ?"  she  asks  Minim, 
who  only  smiles  compassionately  upon  the  dear 
woman,  while  I  am  buttoning  my  coat. 

Then  we  step  along  the  street,  and  I  am  con 
scious  of  trembling  a  little,  for  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
going  to  court.  Suddenly  we  are  standing  before 
the  range  of  portraits. 

"  This,"  says  Mimim,  with  unction,  "  is  Sir  Solo 
mon  Sculpin,  the  founder  of  the  family.'1 

"  Famous  for  what?"  I  ask,  respectfully. 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS.  183 

"  For  founding  the  family,"  replies  Minim  grave 
ly,  and  I  have  sometimes  thought  a  little  severely. 

"  This,"  he  says,  pointing  to  a  dame  in  hoops 
and  diamond  stomacher,  "  this  is  Lady  Sheba  Scul- 
pin." 

"  Ah  !  yes.     Famous  for  what  ?"  I  inquire. 

"  For  being  the  wife  of  Sir  Solomon." 

Then,  in  order,  comes  a  gentleman  in  a  huge, 
curling  wig,  looking  indifferently  like  James  the 
Second,  or  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  and  holding  a 
scroll  in  his  hand. 

"  The  Right  Honorable  Haddock  Sculpin,  Lord 
Privy  Seal,  etc.,  etc." 

A  delicate  beauty  hangs  between,  a  face  fair,  and 
loved,  and  lost,  centuries  ago — a  song  to  the  eye — 
a  poem  to  the  heart — the  Aurelia  of  that  old  so 
ciety. 

"  Lady  Dorothea  Sculpin,  who  married  young 
Lord  Pop  and  Cock,  and  died  prematurely  in  Ita- 
ly." 

Poor  Lady  Dorothea !  whose  great  grandchild,  in 
the  tenth  remove,  died  last  week,  an  old  man  of 
eighty  ! 

Next  the  gentle  lady  hangs  a  fierce  figure,  flour 
ishing  a  sword,  with  an  anchor  embroidered  on  his 
coat-collar,  and  thunder  and  lightning,  sinking  ships, 
flames  and  tornadoes  in  the  background. 


184  PRUE    AND    I. 

"  Rear  Admiral  Sir  Shark  Sculpin,  who  fell  in 
the  great  action  off  Madagascar." 

So  Minim  goes  on  through  the  series,  brandish 
ing  his  ancestors  about  my  head,  and  incontinently 
knocking  me  into  admiration. 

And  when  we  reach  the  last  portrait  and  our 
own  times,  what  is  the  natural  emotion  ?  Is  it  not 
to  put  Minim  against  the  wall,  draw  off  at  him 
with  my  eyes  and  mind,  scan  him,  and  consider  his 
life,  and  determine  how  much  of  the  Right  Honor 
able  Haddock's  integrity,  and  the  Lady  Dorothy's 
loveliness,  and  the  Admiral  Shark's  valor,  reappears 
in  the  modern  man  ?  After  all  this  proving  and 
refining,  ought  not  the  last  child  of  a  famous  race  to 
be  its  flower  and  epitome  ?  Or,  in  the  case  that  he 
does  not  chance  to  be  so,  is  it  not  better  to  conceal 
the  family  name  ? 

I  am  told,  however,  that  in  the  higher  circles  of 
society,  it  is  better  not  to  conceal  the  name,  how 
ever  unworthy  the  man  or  woman  may  be  who 
bears  it.  Prue  once  remonstrated  with  a  lady  about 
the  marriage  of  a  lovely  young  girl  with  a  cousin  of 
Minim's  ;  but  the  only  answer  she  received  was, 
''  Well,  he  may  not  be  a  perfect  man,  but  then  he 
is  a  Sculpin,"  which  consideration  apparently  gave 
great  comfort  to  the  lady's  mind. 

But  even  Prue  grants  that  Minim  has  some  rea- 


FAMILY     PORTRAITS.  185 

son  for  his  pride.  Sir  Solomon  was  a  respectable 
man,  and  Sir  Shark  a  brave  one;  and  the  Right 
Honorable  Haddock  a  learned  one ;  the  Lady  Sheba 
was  grave  and  gracious  in  her  way ;  and  the  smile 
of  the  fair  Dorothea  lights  with  soft  sunlight  those 
long-gone  summers.  The  filial  blood  rushes  more 
gladly  from  Minim's  heart  as  he  gazes ;  and  ad 
miration  for  the  virtues  of  his  kindred  inspires  and 
sweetly  mingles  with  good  resolutions  of  his  own. 

Time  has  its  share,  too,  in  the  ministry,  and  the 
influence.  The  hills  beyond  the  river  lay  yesterday, 
at  sunset,  lost  in  purple  gloom  ;  they  receded  into 
airy  distances  of  dreams  and  faery  ;  they  sank  soft 
ly  into  night,  the  peaks  of  the  delectable  moun 
tains.  But  I  knew,  as  I  gazed  enchanted,  that  the 
hills,  so  purple-soft  of  seeming,  were  hard,  and  gray, 
und  barren  in  the  wintry  twilight ;  and  that  in  the 
distance  was  the  magic  that  made  them  fair. 

So,  beyond  the  river  of  time  that  flows  between, 
walk  the  brave  men  and  the  beautiful  women  of 
our  ancestry,  grouped  in  twilight  upon  the  shore. 
Distance  smooths  away  defects,  and,  with  gentle 
darkness,  rounds  -every  form  into  grace.  It  steals 
the  harshness  from  their  speech,  and  every  word  be 
comes  a  song.  Far  across  the  gulf  that  ever  widens 
they  look  upon  us  with  eyes  whose  glance  is  tender, 
and  which  light  us  to  success.  We  acknowledge 


ISO  TRUE    AND    I. 

our  inheritance  ;  we  accept  our  birthright;  we  own 
that  their  careers  have  pledged  us  to  noble  action 
Every  great  life  is  an  incentive  to  all  other  lives; 
but  when  the  brave  heart,  that  beats  for  the  world, 
loves  us  with  the  warmth  of  private  affection,  then 
the  example  of  heroism  is  more  persuasive,  because 
more  personal. 

This  is  the  true  pride  of  ancestry.  It  is  founded 
in  the  tenderness  with  which  the  child  regards  the 
father,  and  in  the  romance  that  time  sheds  upon 
history. 

"  Where  be  all  the  bad  people  buried  ?"  asks 
every  man,  with  Charles  Lamb,  as  he  strolls  among 
the  rank  grave-yard  grass,  and  brushes  it  aside  to 
read  of  the  faithful  husband,  and  the  loving  wife, 
and  the  dutiful  child. 

He  finds  only  praise  in  the  epitaphs,  because  the 
human  heart  is  kind ;  because  it  yearns  with  wist- 
ful  tenderness  after  all  its  brethren  who  have  passed 
into  the  cloud,  and  will  only  speak  well  of  the  de 
parted.  No  offence  is  longer  an  offence  when  the 
grass  is  green  over  the  offender.  Even  faults  then 
seem  characteristic  and  individual.  Even  Justice 
is  appeased  when  the  drop  falls.  How  the  old 
stories  and  plays  teem  with  the  incident  of  the 
duel  in  which  one  gentleman  falls,  and,  in  dying, 
forgives  and  is  forgiven.  We  turn  the  page  with  a 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS  1S7 

tear.  How  much  better  had  there  been  no  offence, 
but  how  well  that  death  wipes  it  out. 

It  is  not  observed  in  history  that  families  improve 
with  time.  It  is  rather  discovered  that  the  whole 
matter  is  like  a  comet,  of  which  the  brightest  part 
is  the  head;  and  the  tail,  although  long  arid  lumin 
ous,  is  gradually  shadeol  into  obscurity. 

Yet,  by  a  singular  compensation,  the  pride  of 
ancestry  increases  in  the  ratio  of  distance.  Adam 
was  valiant,  and  did  so  well  at  Poictiers  that  he 
was  knighted — a  hearty,  homely  country  gentle 
man,  who  lived  humbly  to  the  end.  But  young 
Lucifer,  his  representative  in  the  twentieth  remove, 
has  a  tinder-like  conceit  because  old  Sir  Adam  was 
so  brave  and  humble.  Sir  Adam's  sword  is  hung 
up  at  home,  and  Lucifer  has  a  box  at  the  opera, 
On  a  thin  finger  he  has  a  ring,  cut  with  a  match 
fizzling,  the  crest  of  the  Lucifers.  But  if  he  should 
be  at  a  Poictiers,  he  would  run  away.  Then  history 
would  be  sorry — not  only  for  his  cowardice,  but  for 
the  shame  it  brings  upon  old  Adam's  name. 

So,  if  Minim  Sculpin  is  a  bad  young  man,  he  not 
only  shames  himself,  but  he  disgraces  that  illustri 
ous  line  of  ancestors,  whose  characters  are  known. 
His  neighbor,  Mudge,  has  no  pedigree  of  this  kind, 
and  when  he  reels  homeward,  we  do  not  suffer  the 
sorrow  of  any  fair  Lady  Dorothy  in  such  a  descend- 


188  PKUE    AND    I. 

ant — we  pity  him  for  himself  alone.  But  genius 
and  power  are  so  imperial  and  universal,  that  when 
Minim  Sculpin  falls,  we  are  grieved  not  only  for 
him,  but  for  that  eternal  truth  and  beauty  which 
appeared  in  the  valor  of  Sir  Shark,  and  the  loveli 
ness  of  Lady  Dorothy.  His  neighbor  Mudge's 
grandfather  may  have  been  quite  as  valorous  and 
virtuous  as  Sculpin's ;  but  we  know  of  the  one,  and 
we  do  not  know  of  the  other. 

Therefore,  Prue,  I  say  to  my  wife,  who  has,  by 
this  time,  fallen  as  soundly  asleep  as  if  I  had  been 
preaching  a  real  sermon,  do  not  let  Mrs.  Mudge  feel 
hurt,  because  I  gaze  so  long  and  earnestly  upon  the 
portrait  of  the  fair  Lady  Sculpin,  and,  lost  in  dreams, 
mingle  in  a  society  which  distance  and  poetry  im 
mortalize. 

But  let  the  love  of  the  family  portraits  belong  to 
poetry  and  not  to  politics.  It  is  good  in  the  one 
way,  and  bad  in  the  other. 

The  sentiment  of  ancestral  pride  is  an  integral  part 
of  human  nature.  Its  organization  in  institutions  is 
the  real  object  of  enmity  to  all  sensible  men,  because 
it  is  a  direct  preference  of  derived  to  original  power, 
implying  a  doubt  that  the  world  at  every  period  is 
able  to  take  care  of  itself. 

Trie  family  portraits  have  a  poetic  significance ; 
but  he  is  a  brave  child  of  the  family  who  dares  to 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS  189 

show  them.  They  all  sit  in  passionless  and  austere 
judgment  upon  himself.  Let  him  not  invite  us  to 
see  them,  until  he  has  considered  whether  they  are 
honored  or  disgraced  by  his  own  career — until  he 
has  looked  in  the  glass  of  his  own  thought  and  scan 
ned  his  own  proportions. 

The  family  portraits  are  like  a  woman's  diamonds  , 
they  may  flash  finely  enough  before  the  world,  but 
she  herself  trembles  lest  their  lustre  eclipse  her  eyes. 
It  is  difficult  to  resist  the  tendency  to  depend  upon 
those  portraits,  and  to  enjoy  vicariously  through 
them  a  high  consideration.  But,  after  all,  what 
girl  is  complimented  when  you  curiously  regard  her 
because  her  mother  was  beautiful?  What  attenu 
ated  consumptive,  in  whom  self-respect  is  yet  un- 
consumed,  delights  in  your  respect  for  him,  founded 
in  honor  for  his  stalwart  ancestor  ? 

No  man  worthy  the  name  rejoices  in  any  homage 
which  his  own  effort  and  character  have  not  deserved. 
You  intrinsically  insult  him  when  you  make  him 
the  scapegoat  of  your  admiration  for  his  ancestor. 
But  when  his  ancestor  is  his  accessory,  then  your 
homage  would  flatter  Jupiter.  AH  that  Minim 
Sculpin  does  by  his  own  talent  is  the  more  radiant 
ly  set  and  ornamented  by  the  family  fame.  The 
imagination  is  pleased  when  Lord  John  Russell  is 
Premier  of  England  and  a  whig,  because  the  gr^at 


190  PRUE    AND    I 

Lord  William  Russell,  his  ancestor,  died  in  England 
for  liberty. 

In  the  san.e  way  Minim  s  sisfcer  Sara  adds  to  her 
own  grace  the  sweet  memory  of  the  Lady  Dorothy. 
When  she  glides,  a  sunbeam,  through  that  quiet 
house,  and  in  winter  makes  summer  by  her  presence  ; 
when  she  sits  at  the  piano,  singing  in  the  twilight, 
or  stands  leaning  against  the  Venus  in  the  corner  of 
the  room — herself  more  graceful — then,  in  glancing 
from  her  to  the  portrait  of  the  gentle  Dorothy,  you 
feel  that  the  long  years  between  them  have  been 
lighted  by  the  same  sparkling  grace,  and  shadowed 
by  the  same  pensive  smile — for  this  is  but  one  Sara 
and  one  Dorothy,  out  of  all  that  there  are  in  the 
world. 

As  we  look  at  these  two,  we  must  own  that  no 
blesse  oblige  in  a  sense  sweeter  than  we  knew,  and 
be  glad  when  young  Sculpin  invites  us  to  see  the 
family  portraits.     Could  a  man  be  named   Sidney, 
and  not  be  a  better  man,  or  Milton,  and  be  a  churl  ? 

But  it  is  apart  from  any  historical  association  that 
I  like  to  look  at  the  family  portraits.  The  Sculpins 
were  very  distinguished  heroes,  and  judges,  and 
founders  of  families ;  but  I  chiefly  linger  upon  their 
pictures,  because  they  were  men  and  women.  Their 
portraits  remove  the  vagueness  from  history,  and 
give  it  reality.  Ancient  valor  and  beauty  cease  to 


FAMILY    PORTRAITS  191 

be  names  and  poetic  myths,  and  become  facts.  I 
feel  that  they  lived,  and  loved,  and  suffered  in  those 
old  days.  The  story  of  their  lives  is  instantly  full 
of  human  sympathy  in  my  mind,  and  I  judge  them 
more  gently,  more  generously. 

Then  I  look  at  those  of  us  who  are  the  spectators 
of  the  portraits.  I  know  that  we  are  made  of  the 
same  flesh  and  blood,  that  time  is  preparing  us  to 
be  placed  in  his  cabinet  and  upon  canvass,  to  be 
curiously  studied  by  the  grandchildren  of  unborn 
Prues.  I  put  out  my  hands  to  grasp  those  of  my 
fellows  around  the  pictures.  "  Ah  !  friends,  we  live 
not  only  for  ourselves.  Those  whom  we  shall  never 
see,  will  look  to  us  as  models,  as  counsellors.  We 
shall  be  speechless  then.  We  shall  only  look  at 
them  from  the  canvass,  and  cheer  or  discourage  them 
by  their  idea  of  our  lives  and  ourselves.  Let  us  so 
look  in  the  portrait,  that  -ihoj-  shall  love  our  memo 
ries — that  they  shall  say,  in  turn,  -  they  were  kind 
•uid  thoughtful,  those  queer  old  ancestors  of  ours , 
let  ns  not  disgrace  them,' v> 

If  they  only  recognize  us  as  men  and  women  like 
themselves,  they  will  be  the  better  for  it,  and  the 
family  portraits  will  be  family  blessings. 

This  is  what  my  grandmother  did.  She  looked 
at  her  own  portrait,  at  the  portrait  of  her  youth, 
\vith  much  the  same  feeling  that  I  remember  Prue 


192  PRUE    AND    I. 

as  she  was  when  I  first  ss  w  her,  with  much  the 
same  feeling  that  1  hope  our  grandchildren  will 
remember  us. 

Upon  those  still  summer  mornings,  though  she 
stood  withered  and  wan  in  a  plain  black  silk  gown, 
a  close  cap,  and  spectacles,  and  held  her  shrunken 
and  blue-veined  hand  to  shield  her  eyes,  yet,  as  she 
gazed  with  that  long  and  longing  glance,  upon  the 
blooming  beauty  that  had  faded  from  her  form  for 
ever,  she  recognized  undev  that  flowing  hair  and 
that  rosy  cheek — the  immortal  fashions  of  youth 
and  health — and  beneath  those  many  ruffles  and 
that  quaint  high  waist,  the  fashions  of  the  day — 
the  same  true  and  loving  woman.  If  her  face  wras 
pensive  as  she  turned  away,  it  was  because  truth 
and  love  are,  in  their  essence  forever  young ;  and 
it  is  the  hard  condition  of  nature  that  they  cannot 
always  appear  so. 


OUR  COUSIN  THE  CURATE. 


"Why,  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep, 

The  heart  ungalled  play ; 
For  some  must  watch  while  some  must 
Thus  runs  the  world  away." 


OUR   COUSIN   THE    CURATE. 

"  Why,  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep, 

The  heart  ungalled  play ; 
For  some  must  watch  while  some  must  sleep ;     ' 
Thus  runs  the  world  away." 

PRUE  and  I  have  very  few  relations :  Prue,  espe 
cially,  says  that  she  never  had  any  but  her  parents-, 
and  that  she  has  none  now  but  her  children.  .  She 
often  wishes  she  had  some  large  aunt  in  the  coun 
try,  who  might  come  in  unexpectedly  with  bags 
and  bundles,  and  encamp  4n  our  little  house  for  a 
whole  winter. 

"  Because  you  are  tired  of  me,  I  suppose,  Mrs. 
Prue?"  I  reply  with  dignity,  when  she  alludes  to 
the  imaginary  large  aunt. 

"  You  could  take  aunt  to  the  opera,  you  know, 
and  walk  with  her  on  Sundays,"  says  Prue,  as  she 
knits  and  calmly  looks  me  in  the  face,  without 
recognizing  my  observation. 

Then  I  tell  Prue  in  the  plainest  possible  manner 
that,  if  her  large  aunt  should  come  up  from  the 
country  to  pass  the  winter,  I  should  insist  upon  her 
bringing  her  oldest  daughter,  with  whom  I  would 


196  PRUE    AND    1 

flirt  so  desperately  that  the  street  would  be  scan 
dalized,  and  even  the  corner  grocery  should  gossip 
over  the  iniquity. 

:'  Poor  Prue,  how  I  should  pity  you,"  I  say  tri 
umphantly  to  my  wife. 

"  Poor  oldest  daughter,  how  I  should  pity  her," 
replJ£s  Prue,  placidly  counting  her  stitches. 

/So  the  happy  evening  passes,  as  we  gaily  mock 
each  other,  and  wonder  how  old  the  large  aun-t 
should  be,  and  how  many  bundles  she  ought  to 
bring  with  her. 

"  I  would  have  her  arrive  by  the  late  train  at 
midnight,"  says  Prue ;  "  and  when  she  had  eaten 
some  supper  and  had  gone  to  her  room,  she  should 
discover  that  she  had  left  the  most  precious  bundle 
of  all  in  the  cars,  without  whose  contents  she  could 
not  sleep,  nor  dress,  and  you  would  start  to  hunt 
for  it." 

And  the  needle  clicks  faster  than  ever. 

"  Yes,  and  when  I  am  gone  to  the  office  in  the 
morning,  and  am  busy  about  important  affairs  — 
yes,  Mrs.  Prue,  important  affairs,"  I  insist,  as  my 
wife  half  raises  her  head  incredulously — "  then  our 
large  aunt  from  the  country  would  like  to  go  shop 
ping,  and  would  want  you  for  her  escort.  And 
she  would  cheapen  tape  at  all  the  shops,  and  even 
to  the  great  Stewart  himself,  she  would  offer  a  shil 


OUR    COUSIN    THE    CURATE.  197 

Sing  less  for  the  gloves.  Then  the  comely  clerks 
of  the  great  Stewart  would  look  at  you,  with  their 
brows  lifted,  as  if  they  said,  Mrs.  Prue,  your  large 
aunt  had  better  stay  in  the  country." 

And  the  needle  clicks  more  slowly,  as  if  the  tune 
were  changing. 

The  large  aunt  will  never  come,  I  know ;  nor 
shall  I  ever  flirt  with  the  oldest  daughter./  I 
should  like  to  believe  that  our  little  house^will 
teem  with  aunts  and  cousins  when  Prue  and  I  are 
gone ;  but  how  can  I  believe  it,  when  there  ia  a 
milliner  within  three  doors,  and  a  hair-dresser 
combs  his  wigs  in  ihe  late  dining-room  of  my 
opposite  neighbor  ?  JvThe  large  aunt  from  the 
country  is  entirely  impossible,  arid  as  Prue  feels 
it  and  I  ieel  it,  the  needles  seem  to  click  a  dirge  for 
that  late  lamented  lady. 

"  But  at  least  we  have  one  relative,  Prue." 

The  needles  stop :  only  the  clock  ticks  upon  the 
mante*  to  remind  us  how  ceaselessly  the  stream  of 
time  flows  on  that  bears  us  away  from  our  cousin 
the  curate. 

When  Prue  and  I  are  most  cheerful,  and  the 
world  looks  fair — we  talk  of  our  cousin  the  curate. 
When  the  world  seems  a  little  cloudy,  and  we 
remember  that  though  we  have  lived  and  loved 
together,  we  may  not  die  together — wo  talk  of  our 


198  PKUE     AND     I. 

cousin  the  curate.  "When  we  plan  little  plans  for  the 
boys  and  dream  dreams  for  the  girls — we  talk  of  our 
cousin  the  curate.  When  I  tell  Prue  of  Aurelia 
whose  character  is  every  day  lovelier — we  talk  of 
our  cousin  the  curate.  There  is  no  subject  which 
does  not  seem  to  lead  naturally  to  our  cousin  the 
curate.  As  the  soft  air  steals  in  and  envelopes 
everything  in  the  world,  so  that  the  trees,  and  the 
hills,  and  the  rivers,  the  cities,  the  crops,  and  the 
sea,  are  made  remote,  and  delicate,  and  beautiful, 
by  its  pure  baptism,  so  over  all  the  events  of  our 
little  lives,  comforting,  refining,  and  elevating,  falls 
like  a  benediction  the  remembrance  of  our  cousin 
the  curate. 

He  was  my  only  early  companion.  He  had  no 
brother,  I  had  none  :  and  we  became  brothers  to 
each  other.  He  was  always  beautiful.  His  face  was 
symmetrical  and  delicate ;  his  figure  was  slight  and 
graceful.  He  looked  as  the  sons  of  kings  ought  to 
look  :  as  I  am  sure  Philip  Sidney  looked  when  he 
was  a  boy.  His  eyes  were  blue,  and  as  you  looked 
at  them,  they  seemed  to  let  your  gaze  out  into  a 
June  heaven.  The  blood  ran  close  to  the  skin,  and 
his  complexion  had  the  rich  transparency  of  light. 
There  was  nothing  gross  or  heavy  in  his  expression 
.or  texture  ;  his  soul  seemed  to  have  mastered  his 
body.  But  he  had  strong  passions,  for  his  delicacy 


OUR    CGUSIN    THE    CURATE  19S 

was  positive,  not  negative  :  it  was  not  weakness 
but  intensity. 

There  was  a  patch  of  ground  about  the  house 
which  we  tilled  as  a  garden.  I  was  proud  of  my 
morning-glories,  and  sweet  peas ;  my  cousin  culti 
vated  roses.  One  day — and  we  could  scarcely  have 
been  more  than  six  years  old — we  were  digging 
merrily  and  talking,  Suddenly  there  was  some 
kind  of  difference  ;  I  taunted  him,  and,  raising  his 
spade,  he  struck  me  upon  the  leg.  The  blow  was 
heavy  for  a  boy,  and  the  blood  trickled  from  the 
wound.  I  burst  into  indignant  tears,  and  limped 
toward  the  house.  My  cousin  turned  pale  and  said 
nothing,  but  just  as  I  opened  the  door,  he  darted  by 
me,  and  before  I  could  interrupt  him,  he  had  con 
fessed  his  crime,  and  asked  for  punishment. 

From  that  day  he  conquered  himself.  He  devoted 
a  kind  of  ascetic  energy  to  subduing  his  own  will, 
and  I  remember  no  other  outbreak.  But  the  pen 
alty  he  paid  for  conquering  his  will,  was  a  loss  of 
the  gushing  expression  of  feeling.  My  cousin  be 
came  perfectly  gentle  in  his  manner,  but  there  waa 
a  want  of  that  pungent  excess,  which  is  the  finest 
flavor  of  character.  His  views  were  moderate  and 
calm.  He  was  swept  away  by  no  boyish  extrava 
gance,  and,  even  while  I  wished  he  would  sin  only 
a  very  little,  I  still  adored  him  as  a  saint.  The  truth 


200  PRUE    AND     I. 

is,  as  I  tell  Prue,  I  am  so  very  bad  because  1  have 
to  sin  for  two — for  myself  and  our  cousin  the  cu 
rate.  Often,  when  I  returned  panting  and  restless 
from  some  frolic,  which  had  wasted  almost  all  the 
night,  I  was  rebuked  as  I  entered  the  room  in  which 
he  lay  peacefully  sleeping.  There  was  something 
hoiy  in  the  profound  repose  of  his  beauty,  and,  as  1 
stood  looking  at  him,  how  many  a  time  the  tears 
have  dropped  from  my  hot  eyes  upon  his  face,  while 
I  vowed  to  make  myself  worthy  of  such  a  compan 
ion,  for  I  felt  my  heart  owning  its  allegiance  to 
that  strong  and  imperial  nature.  -f- 

My  cousin  was  loved  by  the  boys,  but  the  girls 
worshipped  him.  His  mind,  large  in  grasp,  and 
subtle  in  perception,  naturally  commanded  his  com 
panions,  while  the  lustre  of  his  character  allured 
those  who  could  not  understand  him.  The  asceti 
cism  occasionally  showed  itself  a  vein  of  hardness,  or 
rather  of  seventy  in  his  treatment  of  others.  He  did 
what  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  do,  but  he  forgot 
that  few  could  see  the  right  so  clearly  as  he,  and 
very  few  of  those  few  could  so  calmly  obey  the 
least  command  of  conscience.  I  confess  I  was  a 
little  afraid  of  him,  for  I  think  I  never  could  be 
severe. 

In  the  long  winter  evenings  I  often  read  to  Prue 
the  story  of  some  old  father  of  the  church,  or  some 


OUR    COUSIN    THE    CURATE.  201 

quaint  poem  of  George  Herbert's — and  every  Christ 
mas-eve,  I  read  to  her  Milton's  Hymn  of  the  Nativi 
ty.  Yet,  when  the  saint  seems  to  us  most  saintly, 
or  the  poem  most  pathetic  or  sublime,  we  find  our 
selves  talking  of  our  cousin  the  curate.  I  have 
not  seen  him  for  many  years ;  but,  when  we  parted, 
his  head  had  the  intellectual  symmetry  of  Milton's, 
without  the  puritanic  stoop,  and  with  the  stately 
grace  of  a  cavalier. 

Such  a  boy  has  premature  wisdom— he  lives  and 
suffers  prematurely. 

Prue  loves  to  listen  when  I  speak  of  the  romance 
of  his  life,  and  I  do  not  wonder.  For  my  part,  I 
find  in  the  best  romance  only  the  story  of  my  love  for 
her,  and  often  as  I  read  to  her,  whenever  I  come  to 
what  Titbottom  calls  "  the  crying  part,"  if  I  lift 
my  eyes  suddenly,  I  see  that  Prue's  eyes  are  fixed 
on  me  with  a  softer  light  by  reason  of  their  moist 
ure. 

Our  cousin  the  curate  loved,  while  he  was  yet 
a  boy,  Flora,  of  the  sparkling  eyes  and  the  ringing 
voice.  His  devotion  was  absolute.  Flora  was  flat 
tered,  because  all  the  girls,  as  I  said,  worshipped 
him  ;  but  she  was  a  gay,  glancing  girl,  who  had  in 
vaded  the  student's  heart  with  her  audacious  bril 
liancy,  and  was  half  surprised  that  she  had  subdued 
it.  Our  cousin — for  I  never  think  of  him  as  my 
9*  ' 


202  PR  TIE     AND     I. 

cousin,  only — wasted  away  under  the  fervor  of  his 
passion.  His  life  exhaled  as  incense  before  her.  He 
wrote  poems  to  her,  and  sang  them  under  her  win 
dow,  in  the  summer  moonlight.  He  brought  her 
'flowers  and  precious  gifts.  When  he  had  nothing 
else  to  give,  he  gave  her  his  love  in  a  homage  so 
eloquent  and  beautiful  that  the  worship  was  like 
the  worship  of  the  wise  men.  The  gay  Flora  was 
proud  and  superb.  She  was  a  girl,  and  the  bravest 
and  best  boy  loved  her.  She  was  young,  and  the 
wisest  and  truest  youth  loved  her.  They  lived  to 
gether,  we  all  lived  together,  in  the  happy  valley 
of  childhood.  We  looked  forward  to  manhood 
as  island-poets  look  across  the  sea,  believing  that 
the  whole  world  beyond  is  a  blest  Araby  of 
spices. 

The  months  went  by,  and  the  young  love  con 
tinued.  Our  cousin  and  Flora  were  only  children 
still,  and  there  was  no  engagement.  The  elders 
looked  upon  the  intimacy  as  natural  and  mutually 
beneficial.  It  would  help  soften  the  boy  and 
strengthen  the  girl ;  and  they  took  for  granted  that 
softness  and  strength  were  precisely  what  were 
wanted.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  men  and  women  for 
get  that  they  have  been  children.  Parents  are  apt 
to  be  foreigners  to  their  sons  and  daughters.  Matu 
rity  is  the  gate  of  Paradise,  which  shuts  behind  us ; 


OUR    COUSIN    THE    CURATE.  203 

and  our  memories  are  gradually  weaned  from  the 
glories  in  which  our  nativity  was  cradled. 

The  months  went  by,  the  children  grew  older, 
and  they  constantly  loved.  Now  Prue  always 
smiles  at  one  of  my  theories  ;  she  is  entirely  scepti 
cal  of  it ;  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  my  opinion,  that 
men  love  most  passionately,  and  women  most  perma 
nently.  Men  love  at  first  and  most  warmly;  women 
love  last  and  longest.  This  is  natural  enough  ,  for 
nature  makes  women  to  be  won,  and  men  to  win. 
Men  are  the  active,  positive  force,  and,  therefore, 
they  are  more  ardent  and  demonstrative. 

I  can  never  get  farther  than  that  in  my  philoso 
phy,  when  Prue  looks  at  me,  and  smiles  me  into 
scepticism  of  my  own  doctrines.  But  they  are  true, 
notwithstanding. 

My  day  is  rather  past  for  such  speculations  ;  but 
so  long  as  Aurelia  is  unmarried,  I  am  sure  I  shall  in 
dulge  myself  in  them.  I  have  never  made  much 
progress  in  the  philosophy  of  love ;  in  fact,  I  can 
only  be  sure  of  this  one  cardinal  principle,  that 
when  you  are  quite  sure  two  people  cannot  be  in 
love  with  each  other,  because  there  is  no  earthly 
reason  why  they  should  be,  then  you  may  be  very 
confident  that  you  are  wrong,  and  that  they  are  in 
love,  for  the  secret  of  love  is  past  finding  out.  Why 
,  our  cousin  should  have  loved  the  gay  Flora  so  ar- 


204  PliUE    AND    I. 

dently  was  hard  to  say ;  but  that  he  did  so,  was  not 
difficult  to  see. 

He  went  away  to  college.  He  wrote  the  most 
eloquent  and  passionate  letters ;  and  when  he 
returned  in  vacations,,  he  had  no  eyes,  ears,  nor 
heart  for  any  other  being.  I  rarely  saw  him,  for 
I  was  living  away  from  our  early  home,  and 
was  busy  in  a  store — learning  to  be  book-keeper 
— but  I  heard  afterward  from  himself  the  whole 
story. 

One  day  when  he  came  home  for  the  holidays,  he 
found  a  young  foreigner  with  Flora — a  handsome 
youth,  brilliant  and  graceful.  I  have  asked  Prue 
a  thousand  times  why  women  adore  soldiers  and 
foreigners.  She  says  it  is  because  they  love  heroism 
and  are  romantic.  A  soldier  is  professionally  a  hero, 
says  Prue,  and  a  foreigner  is  associated  with  all  un 
known  and  beautiful  regions.  I  hope  there  is  no 
worse  reason.  But  if  it  be  the  distance  which  is 
romantic,  then,  by  her  own  rule,  the  mountain  which 
looked  to  you  so  lovely  when  you  saw  it  upon  the 
horizon,  when  you  stand  upon,  its  rocky  and  barren 
side,  has  transmitted  its  romance  to  its  remotest 
neighbor.  I  cannot  but  admire  the  fancies  of  girls 
which  make  them  poets.  They  have  only  to  look 
upon  a  dull-eyed,  ignorant,  exhausted  roue.,  with  an 
impudent  moustache  and  they  surrender  to  Italy 


OUR    COUSIN    1  II E    CURATE.  20o 

to  the  tropics,  to  the  splendors  of  nobility,  and  a 
court  life — and — 

"  Stop,"  says  Prue,  gently  ;  "  you  have  no  right 
to  say  '  girls'  do  so,  because  some  poor  victims  have 
been  deluded.  Would  Aurelia  surrender  to  a  blear- 
eyed  foreigner  in  a  moustache  ?" 

Prue  has  such  a  reasonable  way  of  putting  these 
things ! 

Our  cousin  came  home  and  found  Flora  and  the 
young  foreigner  conversing.  The  young  foreigner 
had  large,  soft,  black  eyes,  and  the  dusky  skin  of 
the  tropics.  His  manner  was  languid  and  fascinat 
ing,  courteous  and  reserved.  It  assumed  a  natural 
supremacy,  and  you  felt  as  if  here  were  a  young 
prince  travelling  before  he  came  into  possession  of 
his  realm. 

It  is  an  old  fable  that  love  is  blind.  But  I  think 
there  are  no  eyes  so  sharp  as  those  of  lovers.  I  am 
sure  there  is  not  a  shade  upon  Prue's  brow  that  I 
do  not  instantly  remark,  nor  an  altered  tone  in  her 
voice  that  I  do  not  instantly  observe.  Do  you  sup- 
pose  Aurelia  would  not  note  the  slightest  deviation 
of  heart  in  her  lover,  if  she  had  one  V  Love  is  the 
coldest  of  critics.  To  be  in  love  is  to  live  in  a  crisis, 
and  the  very  imminence  of  uncertainty  makes  the 
lover  perfectly  self-possessed.  His  eye  constantly 
scours  the  horizon.  There  is  no  footfall  so  light 


206  PRUE    AND    I 

that  it  does  not  thunder  in  his  ear.  Lo\  e  is  tortured 
by  the  tempest  the  moment  the  cloud  of  a  hand's 
size  rises  out  of  the  sea.  It  foretells  its  own  doom  ; 
its  agony  is  past  before  its  sufferings  are  known. 

Our  cousin  the  curate  no  sooner  saw  the  tropical 
stranger,  and  marked  his  impression  upon  Flora, 
than  he  felt  the  end.  As  the  shaft  struck  his  heart, 
his  smile  was  sweeter,  and  his  homage  even  more 
poetic  and  reverential.  I  doubt  if  Flora  understood 
him  or  herself,  She  did  not  know,  what  he  in 
stinctively  perceived,  that  she  loved  him  less.  But 
there  are  no  degrees  in  love ;  when  it  is  less  than 
absolute  and  supreme,  it  is  nothing.  Our  cousin 
and  Flora  were  not  formally  engaged,  but  their  be 
trothal  was  understood  by  all  of  us  as  a  thing  of 
course.  He  did  not  allude  to  the  stranger  ;  but  as 
clay  followed  day,  he  saw  with  every  nerve  all  that 
passed.  Gradually — so  gradually  that  she  scarcely 
noticed  it — our  cousin  left  Flora  more  and  more 
with  the  soft-eyed  stranger,  whom  he  saw  she  pre 
ferred.  His  treatment  of  her  was  so  full  of  tar.t,  he 
still  walked  arid  talked  with  her  so  familiarl}',  that 
she  was  not  troubled  by  any  fear  that  he  saw  what 
she  hardly  saw  herself.  Therefore,  she  was  not 
obliged  to  conceal  anything  from  him  or  from  her 
self;  but  all  the  soft  currents  of  her  heart  were  set 
ting  toward  the  West  Indian.  Our  cousin's  cheek 


OUR     COUSIN    THE    CURATE.  207 

grew  paler,  and  his  soul  burned  and  wasted  within 
him.  His  whole  future — all  his  dream  of  life — had 
been  founded  upon  his  love.  It  was  a  stately  pal 
ace  built  upon  the  sand,  and  now  the  sand  was  slid 
ing  away.  I  have  read  somewhere,  that  love  will 
sacrifice  everything  but  itself.  But  our  cousin  sacri 
ficed  his  love  to  the  happiness  of  his  mistress.  He 
ceased  to  treat  her  as  peculiarly  his  own.  He  made 
no  claim  in  word  or  manner  that  everybody  might 
not  have  made.  He  did  not  refrain  from  seeing  her, 
or  speaking  of  her  as  of  all  his  other  friends  ;  and, 
at  length,  although  no  one  could  say  how  or  when 
the  change  had  been  made,  it  was  evident  and 
understood  that  he  was  no  more  her  lover,  but  that 
both  were  the  best  of  friends. 

He  still  wrote  to  her  occasionally  from  college, 
and  his  letters  were  those  of  a  friend,  not  of  a  lover. 
He  could  not  reproach  her.  I  do  not  believe  any 
man  is  secretly  surprised  that  a  woman  ceases  to 
love  him.  Her  love  is  a  heavenly  favor  won  by  no 
desert  of  his.  If  it  passes,  he  can  no  more  complain 
than  a  flower  when  the  sunshine  leaves  it. 

Before  our  cousin  left  college,  Flora  was  married 
to  the  tropical  stranger.  It  was  the  brightest  of  June 
days,  and  the  summer  smiled  upon  the  bride.  There 
were  roses  in  her  hand  and  orange  flowers  in  her 
hair,  and  the  village  church  bell  rang  out  over  the 


208  PRUE    AND     I. 

peaceful  fields.  The  warm  sunshine  lay  upon  the 
landscape  like  God's  blessing,  and  Prue  and  I,  not 
yet  married  ourselves,  stood  at  an  open  window  in 
the  old  meeting-house,  hand  in  hand,  while  the 
young  couple  spoke  their  vows.  Prue  says  that 
brides  are  always  beautiful,  and  I,  who  remember 
Prue  herself  upon  her  wedding-day — how  can  1 
deny  it  ?  Truly,  the  gay  Flora  was  lovely  that 
summer  morning,  and  the  throng  was  happy  in  the 
old  church.  But  it  was  very  sad  to  me,  although  1 
only  suspected  then  what  now  I  know.  I  shed  no 
tears  at  my  own  wedding,  but  I  did  at  Flora's, 
although  I  knew  she  was  marrying  a  soft-eyed  youth 
whom  she  dearly  loved,  and  who,  I  doubt  not, 
dearly  loved  her. 

Among  the  group  of  her  nearest  friends  was  our 
cousin  the  curate.  When  the  ceremony  was  ended, 
he  came  to  shake  her  hand  with  the  rest.  His  face 
was  calm,  and  his  smile  sweet,  and  his  manner  un 
constrained.  Flora  did  not  blush — why  should  she? 
— but  shook  his  hand  warmly,  and  thanked  him  for 
his  good  wishes.  Then  they  all  sauntered  down  the 
aisle  together ;  there  were  some  tears  with  the 
smiles  among  the  other  friends  ;  our  cousin  handed 
the  bride  into  her  carriage,  shook  hands  with  the 
husband,  closed  the  door,  and  Flora  drove  away. 

I  have  never  seen  her  since ;  I  do  not  even  know 


OUR    COUSIN    THE    CURATE.  209 

if  she  be  living  still.  But  I  shall  always  remember 
her  as  she  looked  that  June  morning,  holding  roses  in 
her  hand,  and  wreathed  with  orange  flowers.  Dear 
Flora !  it  was  no  fault  of  hers  that  she  loved  one 
man  more  than  another :  she  could  not  be  blamed 
for  not  preferring  our  cousin  to  the  West  Indian : 
there  is  no  fault  in  the  story,  it  is  only  a  tragedy. 

Our  cousin  carried  all  the  collegiate  honors — but 
without  exciting  jealousy  or  envy.  He  was  so 
really  the  best,  that  his  companions  were  anxious 
he  should  have  the  sign  of  his  superiority.  He 
studied  hard,  he  thought  much,  and  \vrote  well. 
There  was  no  evidence  of  any  blight  upon  his  am 
bition  or  career,  but  after  living  quietly  in  the 
country  for  some  time,  he  went  to  Europe  and 
travelled.  When  he  returned,  he  resolved  to  study 
law,  but  presently  relinquished  it.  Then  he  col 
lected  materials  for  a  history,  but  suffered  them  to 
lie  unused.  Somehow  the  mainspring  was  gone. 
Ele  used  to  come  and  pass  weeks  with  Prue  and  me. 
His  coming  made  the  children  happy,  for  he  sat 
with  them,  and  talked  and  played  with  them  all  day 
long,  as  one  of  themselves.  They  had  no  quarrels 
when  our  cousin  the  curate  was  their  playmate,  and 
their  laugh  was  hardly  sweeter  than  his  as  it  rang 
down  from  the  nursery.  Yet  sometimes,  as  Prue 
was  setting  the  tea-table  and  I  sat  musing  by  the 


210  PRUE    AND    I. 

fire,  she  stopped  and  turned  to  me  as  we  heard  that 
sound,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

-A/A/-       LsQ-^-AAA'1  V**-* 

lie  was  interested  in  all  subjects  that  interested 
others.  His  fine  perception,  his  clear  sense,  his 
noble  imagination,  illuminated  every  question.  His 
friends  wanted  him  to  go  into  political  life,  to  write 
a  great  book,  to  do  something  worthy  of  his  powers. 
It  was  the  very  thing  he  longed  to  do  himself;  but 
he  came  and  played  with  the  children  in  the  nurs 
ery,  and  the  great  deed  was  undone./  Often,  in  the 
long  winter  evenings,  we  talked  of  ihe  past,  while 
Titbottom  sat  silent  by,  and  Prue  was  busily  knit 
ting.  He  told  us  the  incidents  of  his  early  passion 
— but  he  did  not  moralize  about  it,  nor  sigh,  nor 
grow  moody.  He  turned  to  Prue,  sometimes,  and 
jested  gently,  and  often  quoted  from  the  old  song 
of  George  Withers,  I  believe  : 

"  If  she  be  not  fair  for  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ?" 

But  there  was  no  flippancy  in  the  jesting,  I 
thought  the  sweet  humor  was  no  gayer  than  a 
flower  upon  a  grave. 

I  am  sure  Titbottom  loved  our  cousin  the  curate, 
for  his  heart  is  as  hospitable  as  the  summer  heaven. 
It  was  beautiful  to  watch  his  courtesy  toward  him, 
and  I  do  not  wonder  that  Prue  considers  the  deputy 
book-keeper  the  model  of  a  high-bred  gentleman. 


OUR    COUSIN    THE    CURATE.  211 

When  you  see  his  poor  clothes,  and  thin,  gray  hair, 
his  loitering  step,  and  dreamy  eye,  you  might  pass 
him  by  as  an  inefficient  man ;  but  when  you  hear 
his  voice  always  speaking  for  the  noble  and  gener 
ous  side,  or  recounting,  in  a  half-melancholy  chant, 
the  recollections  of  his  youth  ;  when  you  know  that 
his  heart  beats  with  the  simple  emotion  of  a  boy's 
heart,  and  that  his  courtesy  is  as  delicate  as  a  girl's 
modesty,  you  will  understand  why  Prue  declarea 
that  she  has  never  seen  but  one  man  who  reminded 
her  of  our  especial  favorite,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and 
thatxhis  name  is  Titbottom. 

^At  length  our  cousin  went  abroad  again  to 
Europe.  It  was  many  years  ago  that  we  watched 
him  sail  away,  and  when  Titbottom,  and  Prue,  and 
I,  went  home  to  dinner,  the  grace  that  was  said  that 
day  was  a  fervent  prayer  for  our  cousin  the  curate. 
Many  an  evening  afterward,  the  children  wanted 
him,  and  cried  themselves  to  sleep  calling  upon  his 
name.  Many  an  evening  still,  our  talk  flags  into 
silence  as  we  sit  before  the  fire,  and  Prue  puts 
down  her  knitting  and  takes  my  hand,  as  if  she  knew 
my  thoughts,  although  we  do  not  name  his  name. 

He  wrote  us  letters  as  he  wandered  about  the 
world.  They  were  affectionate  letters,  full  of  ob 
servation,  and  thought,  and  description.  He  lingered 

ongest  in  Italy,  but  he  said  his  conscience  accused 


212  PRT7E    AKD    I. 

Lim  of  yielding  to  the  syrens;  and  he  declared  that 
his  life  was  running  uselessly  away.  At  last  he 
came  to  England.  He  was  charmed  with  every 
thing,  and  the  climate  was  even  kinder  to  him 
than  that  of  Italy.  He  went  to  all  the  famous 
[•laces,  and  saw  many  of  the  famous  Englishmen, 
and  wrote  that  he  felt  England  to  be  his  home. 
Burying  himself  in  the  ancient  gloom  of  a  uni 
versity  town,  although  past  the  prime  of  life,  he 
studied  like  an  ambitious  boy.  He  said  again  that 
his  life  had  been  wine  poured  upon  the  ground, 
and  he  felt  guilty.  And  so  our  cousin  became  a 
curate.  _3^- 

"  Surely,"  wrote  he,  "you  and  Prue  will  be  glad 
to  hear  it ;  and  my  friend  Titbottom  can  no  longer 
boast  that  he  is  more  useful  in  the  world  than  I. 
Dear  old  George  Herbert  has  already  said  what  I 
would  say  to  you,  and  here  it  is. 

"  '  I  made  a  posy,  while  the  day  ran  by ; 
Here  will  I  smell  my  remnant  out,  and  tie 

My  life  within  this  band. 
But  time  did  beckon  to  the  flowers,  and  they 
My  noon  most  cunningly  did  steal  away, 
And  wither'd  in  my  hand. 

"  '  My  hand  was  next  to  them,  and  then  my  heart ; 
I  took,  without  more  thinking,  in  good  part, 

Time's  gentle  admonition ; 
Which  did  so  sweetly  death's  sad  taste  convey, 
Making  ray  mind  to  smell  my  fatal  day, 

Yet  sugaring  the  suspicion. 


OUR    COUSIN    THE    CURATE.  213 

"  '  Farewell,  dear  flowers,  sweetly  your  time  ye  epent, 
Fit,  while  ye  lived,  for  smell  or  ornament, 

And  after  death  for  cures  ; 
I  follow  straight  without  complaints  or  grief, 
Since  if  my  scent  be  good,  I  care  not  if 

It  be  as  short  as  yours.'  " 

'his  is  our  only  relation ;  and  do  you  wondei 
that,  whether  our  days  are  dark  or  bright,  we 
naturally  speak  of  our  cousin  the  curate?  There 
is  no  nursery  longer,  for  the  children  are  grown , 
but  I  have  seen  Prue  stand,  with  her  hand  holding 
the  door,  for  an  hour,  and  looking  into  the  room 
now  so  sadly  still  and  tidy,  with  a  sweet  solemnity 
in  her  eyes  that  I  will  call  holy.  Our  children  have 
forgotten  their  old  playmate,  but  I  am  sure  if  there 
be  any  children  in  his  parish,  over  the  sea,  they 
love  our  cousin  the  curate,  and  watch  eagerly  for 
his  coming.  Does  his  step  falter  now,  I  wonder  • 
is  that  long,  fair  hair,  gray ;  is  that  laugh  as  musical 
in  those  distant  homes  as  it  used  to  be  in  our  nurs 
ery  ;  has  England,  among  all  her  good  and  great 
men,  any  man  so  noble  as  our  cousin  the  curate  ?  ->J/ 

The  great  book  is  unwritten  ;  the  great  deeds  are  / 
undone;  in  no  biographical  dictionary  will  you  find 
the  name  of  our  cousin  the  curate.    Is  his  life,  there 
fore,  lost  ?     Have  his  powers  been  wasted  ? 

I  do  not  dare  to  say  it ;  for  I  see  Bourne,  on  the 
pinnacle  of  prosperity,  but  still   looking  sadly  foi 


214  PRUE    AND    I 

his  castle  in  Spain ;  I  see  Titbottom,  an  old  deputy 
book-keeper,  whom  nobody  knows,  but  with  his 
chivalric  heart,  loyal  to  whatever  is  generous  and 
humane,  full  of  sweet  hope,  and  faith,  and  devotion; 
I  see  the  superb  Aurelia,  so  lovely  that  the  Indians 
would  call  her  a  smile  of  the  Great  Spirit,  and  as 
beneficent  as  a  saint  of  the  calendar — how  shall  I 
say  what  is  lost,  or  what  is  won  ?  I  know  that  in 
every  way,  and  by  all  his  creatures,  God  is  served 
and  his  purposes  accomplished.  HOWT  should  I 
explain  or  understand,  I  who  am  only  an  old  book 
keeper  in  a  white  cravat  ? 

Yet  in  all  history,  in  the  splendid  triumphs  of 
emperors  and  kings,  in  the  dreams  of  poets,  the 
speculations  of  philosophers,  the  sacrifices  of  heroes, 
and  the  extacies  of  saints,  I  find  no  exclusive  secret 
of  success.  Prue  says  she  knows  that  nobody  ever 
did  more  good  than  our  cousin  the  curate,  for  every 
smile  and  word  of  h-is  is  a  good  deed ;  and  I,  for  my 
part,  am  sure  that,  although  many  must  do  more 
good  in  the  world,  nobody  enjoys  it  more  than 
Prue  and  L 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


— 

'^    ?S  'fip-j 

'        llFeb'MjC 

REC'D  LD 

^>OX\JV  I-,,.,. 

APR    2'64-lPM 

*        *   . 

6Jun*4|8 

JAN  2  9  1968  OQ; 


LD  21A-40m-4,'63 
(D6471slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


r 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


